Clandestine
by EmpyrealFantasy
Summary: [EragonMurtagh] When you're in love, do the circumstances matter? To you, to the world? Enemy, traitor, brother...do these words really matter when you are faced with something as catalytic as love? «The best things in life are never easy» Incestual Slash
1. Dead as Yesterday

Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect of this lovely series, and we should all be glad for this. It wouldn't be half as good if I did.

MESSAGE TO ALL WOULD-BE FLAMERS: I will ignore you. If you have clicked on this story DESPITE the warnings, you're an idiot anyway. If you are simply malicious and wish to insult me for my choice in pairing? You're close-minded and rude. If you disagree with this pairing: THAT IS FINE, we are all entitled to uor opinions, but this is FANFICTION, and we all have our rights to write and think what we want to think. I am not Paolini, therefore I can write whe characters as I want with whom I want. This is not canon. Flame away, and have fun being completly ignored. :-P

Since this is now going to be a multi-chapter story, I shall give you a new set of warnings for the story itself.

WARNINGS: Slash & incest, angst, citrus (if not outright lemon) later, spoilers for the end of Eldest, likely OOCness (hopefully not too much)

Italics Clarification:

_//Mental speech//_

'_Thoughts'_

"_Flashback-type-thing"_

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**Clandestine**

_Dead as Yesterday_

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"_Love sometimes leaves you as dead as yesterday."_

Pain.

Eragon closed his eyes tighter against the ache that permeated his chest, tossing himself onto his side in an attempt to fall into an oblivious sleep. Fate, though, seemed against him that night, and his thoughts came back once again to his troubles, to the overwhelming pain that had turned his world upside down.

Murtagh's revelations had been rapid fire and nearly incapacitating in their devastation. No, as shocking as it was to find out his oft-imagined father was one of the most reviled men in history was, his lineage did not shake him overmuch. He was still Eragon Shadeslayer, well-meaning but bumbling hero-figure to the Varden, no revelation could change that. Just as he had seen beyond Murtagh's heritage, he could ignore his own. He had never even met his father, let alone could he be anything like him.

No, the pain came from the shock of finding Murtagh, his beloved friend that he had mourned for the last near-year, alive and working for Galbatorix - unwillingly or otherwise. And his brother, to boot! At first, relief and his anger had overrode any reaction he could possibly have, aghast that Murtagh could possibly be working for the enemy after all they had gone through, but still glad for his survival. But now, in the quiet of night in his tent, the pain set in.

Eragon felt hollow, chilled on the inside. The relief of Murtagh's life had worn off now, leaving in its wake an empty pain that reverberated through his very being, drilling into him and rendering him sleepless in its clutches.

The pain was engulfing and asphyxiating, gnawing him from within and driving him nearly to hysterics. Murtagh was alive, a servant to Galbatorix and a Dragon Rider, and was his blood. He wasn't sure what it was that pained him more, the betrayal that ached from his very soul, or the absolute devastation wrought upon him by learning that the enigmatic brunet he had traveled with was in fact his brother.

It was the second that would have brought him to his knees if he attempted to stand, a pain so tremendous in its intensity that it crushed the breath from his chest and left Eragon curled as he was in his bed, wide awake in the middle of the night.

Murtagh - his strong, often playful and always courageous traveling companion was his brother. Eragon's closest friend since leaving Carvahall, a fierce and brave warrior, keen mind, uncommon soul, and an unending enigma…and now officially out of Eragon's reach.

Oh, when the pain had first onset, he had had difficulties understanding why it hurt so much, why the pain was so intense, why the revelation of his relation to the dark haired man had stirred such upset in his heart. He had toiled for hours, through his meeting with Nasuada, planning with Roran, talking with Saphira and on to his self-imposed seclusion in his tent. It had been hours since then, and he had only recently gone beyond his own denial and finally allowed himself to see the truth.

He had thought that the way he had felt when Arya rejected him had been heartbreak, that the fluttery feeling that ran through him in her presence was love. He did not deny his attraction to the Elven princess, in all her beauty and nobility. He cared for her and was drawn to her as a moth to the flame…but it was far from love.

Perhaps he would have gone on forever believing himself in love with the striking elf, someday having that affection returned and defying the social precedent. Perhaps he would have realized the shallow quality of the feelings he harbored and found a girl that stirred something within him, sired children and tried to live the life he had always imagined for himself. Either had been entirely possible…until the moment he had ripped off the red Rider's helm and uncovered Murtagh's mischievous hazel eyes.

At some point along the weeks they spent traveling, he had fallen in love with his friend.

It had been like a physical blow, and still the consequence of that attack plagued him. In just a few hours he had to process a whole new ancestry, the idea of being completely in love with a man, and finally that the man he had unknowingly surrendered his heart to was, in fact, his brother.

In Carvahall, such feelings for a man were considered an abnormality, something to be shied from and ignored at all costs. In his travels, he had noticed the rest of the world was not quite so close minded, though it was not widely accepted anywhere. But despite his ingrained aversion, the revelation that he had been captured by his own sex did not disgust him as much as he had thought it might. Realizing he had fallen in love with the rare, wonderful soul Murtagh had been to him was fine - he certainly could have done worse.

But it was wrong - _so wrong _- to have such affection for one's family. He knew in some smaller villages it happened and was ignored…sometimes prospects were limited. But how could he in good conscience continue to have such affections for his brother, his blood? Had their lots in life been different, they may have grown up side by side, knowing one another as Eragon knew Roran. Eragon couldn't _imagine_ having feelings for Roran like he had for Murtagh; the very thought of such a thing made his gag reflex act up. But it was worse with Murtagh, because where Eragon's mother and Roran's father were brother and sister, it was _Eragon_ and _Murtagh_ who were the siblings.

_//Eragon, you are running in circles within your own mind. Sleep, little one…it will all seem easier in the morning.//_

Eragon jerked and cursed internally; he hadn't meant to leave his mind open while ruminating. He considered blocking his dragon now, hoping that by morning his mental rambling would be forgotten…but he knew better. With a sigh he reached out to her, _//Am I disgusting, Saphira?//_

_//Oh, Eragon//_ she said softly, a mental brush running lightly over him comfortingly, _//We do not chose who we love. Humans have qualms about many a thing, don't they? Even so, you knew not of his relation to you when your feelings grew, and you cannot be faulted for loving him.// _

_//But…//_

_//Hush now. Worrying and thrashing yourself will do no good. It is not as if anything will come out of this affection, right?//_

Eragon sighed and closed his eyes, trying to block out the thoughts that still whirred around his mind. Brother or not, in love or not…Murtagh was the enemy now, and he would have to go against him again, Eragon knew. He dreaded that day more than he could ever describe.

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Author's note 2.0 (after deciding to make this a story):

This will be continuing now, second chapter coming out in the next day or two (sorry to anyone who thought this was an update, but I just needed to update the chapter with new warnings and a chapter title, since it will be a chaptered story now). I thank everyone who encouraged this to continue, I hope you keep up the support. Thank you all, and hope you stay with me.

This story was inspired by the ending of Eldest and I only decided to actually write it because _In Dreams_ by bookkbaby is such a wonderful read…I just had to write some Eragon after reading it. XD I hope she keeps updating, I swear I'll cry if she goes away. I swear I will!


	2. The King and the Pawn

-1Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect of this lovely series, and we should all be glad for this. It wouldn't be half as good if I did.

-Repost with small edit. Sorry guys, Replace Chapter wasn't working.-

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**Clandestine**

_The King and the Pawn_

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"_When the game is over, both the king and the pawn go back into the same box."_

Murtagh growled low in his throat as he strode through the castle's halls, his hazel eyes darkened to nearly black in his rage. It had been mere hours since his return from the Burning Plains, and he had yet to be able to relax even the slightest bit; not after his meeting with Galbatorix.

_"Just as planned…you have done your duty well, my child…did you enjoy it, child? Did you take pleasure in that boy's pain?…again and again you will face him, and again and again I will watch you suffer. You may only have him if he joins us--or you will kill him and I will love watching you crumble when you do."_

"I am not your pawn!" Murtagh screamed into the empty hall, stopping to slam his fist into the nearest wall; he felt the bones break. The brunet merely hissed and spun on his heel, already stalking back down the corridor towards the Dragon Keep. He needed to take a long flight, and he needed it now. In the logical center of his mind, he knew both he and Thorn needed rest after the battle and long flight home, but Murtagh couldn't stay within the castle - his deceptively pleasant prison - any longer.

When he had first been taken captive, he had ignored all Galbatorix's attempts to cajole him into service. The Traitor King had tried bribery, threats, and even grandfatherly caring to persuade Murtagh to his way of thinking, but the young man had never had trouble resisting. Through torture and neglect he refused; his mind only remembering the first person since his mother to truly accept him for who he was.

But it was his resolution to think only of Eragon during the torturous sessions that ended up his downfall. The Twins and Galbatorix had teamed up on Murtagh, beating at the barriers around his mind for hours on end. It had hurt - gods, it had hurt. The mental torment had surpassed any of the physical tortures they had put him through; being whipped and beaten was nothing in comparison to the agony of having his mind violated.

His barriers had kept them out, but not without a few painful intrusions. In the end, the Twins had uncovered his infatuation with his friend, and had taken immense pleasure in informing him of the familial relation between them. In the instants that followed that single shattering revelation, his barricades were crushed by the combined force of the Twins and Galbatorix, and the rest was history.

Since Thorn's birth and their forced oaths of fealty, Murtagh's life had been disgustingly like that of his childhood. The same room, the same routine, just now with a constant presence to keep him sane. Thorn was his oxygen now, the only thing keeping him breathing in the cruel reality he had been subjected to. He shuddered to even think of life without the dragon now.

Eragon had always lingered on his mind, tugging at his thoughts and causing many a sleepless night. So courageous that he was foolish, so compassionate that he harmed himself. The young man had been like a whirlwind in Murtagh's life from the moment he had saved him from the Ra'zac, stirring up emotions and thoughts he had thought had died within him long, long ago. First a fierce protectiveness, then an exasperated affection, ultimately to an untainted kind of love he had only heard of in storybooks he had read as a child.

At first, the revelation that Eragon was his brother had been agonizing. It had taken several months for him to come to grips with it and accept it, several months in which he had nearly driven himself and Thorn to insanity with his haranguing of himself. But after all his agonizing, he had finally accepted his feelings and was rather comfortable with them now.

After all, the two had not been _raised _as brothers, so what was really the problem? Neither of them had even known their parents, not really, so other than blood there was no connection between them. In a more…traditional relationship it have been an issue, because a child conceived of such a pairing would be possibly damaged, but as they were both men there was nothing to worry about there. So really, what was it that plagued him?

_"You betrayed us! I was mourning you and you betrayed us!"_

Murtagh shook his head to rid himself of the painful words Eragon had screamed at him only hours before. Why wouldn't he even try to understand? How could he fault Murtagh for wanting to preserve his and Thorn's life? He had _had no choice_! It hurt so badly to listen to the disdain in the younger man's voice, see the betrayal reflected in usually warm brown eyes.

_"You have become your father."_

Had he really? Some mornings, Murtagh woke and wondered if that was truly what he had become. But then, he realized that just be toiling over what he had done and would do, he was not his father, and he hoped to all the higher powers than he never would. Would he one day wake up and not care if he was a careless murdering traitor? Would he someday be able to take the life of those he had once loved without missing a beat?

_//Are you done angsting yet?// _a snarky voice butted into his musings.

Murtagh rolled his eyes as he began up the last flight of stairs to where his dragon was currently housed, _//Quite. Want to go out for a while?//_

The dragon sighed internally, _//I suppose. What is our next task?//_

_//Reconnaissance. We are to watch Eragon and Saphira, hoping to find a weak point with which to pull them to 'our' side.//_

_//Yay,//_ Thorn said dryly, mentally rolling his eyes, _//More angst.//_

Murtagh merely laughed as he rounded the last corner, smiling softly at the large crimson dragon. Thorn truly was his sanity, and he thanked any powers that were for bringing the dragon into his life, _//Shall we fly?//_

_//Only if you promise to forget all of this Eragon business…you are a real downer, you know that?//_

Murtagh only smiled, _//Yes, I suppose you're right. It's not as if anything would come of it anyway, right?//_

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A/N: Hey, look, this is me turning a oneshot into a story! Thank you SO MUCH for the quick and wonderful reviews I've been given thus far, I was greatly inspired by the response I got to the first chapter. Keep it up and more chapters will come out rapid-fire! -huge grin-

The ending to this chapter was meant to mirror the ending to the first.

I don't know how many chapters will be Murtagh, likely not many though so don't get too attached. XD I adore Murtagh, even more than Eragon…but he's much more difficult to write. Though we are given the base of his character, we don't get inside his head like we do with Eragon, so we form our own opinions of how he works…and that can often lead to conflicting views and people feeling a character to be OOC. That is bad. Thorn is fun though, since I get to make him how I want, since we know literally nothing about him yet. He's a snarky bastard, yup. ;)


	3. Count to Ten

-1Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect of this lovely series, and we should all be glad for this. It wouldn't be half as good if I did. A short passage from his chapter is completely property of Christopher Paolini…marked between © symbols.

Canon(ish) Commentary: Alright, we know nothing, really, about the third book but the short excerpt from the third chapter we get in Eldest. This bit starts two days before that event (like, not the night before, but the night before THAT), as far as I'm concerned. Heheh. No, Paolini wouldn't agree…but this is mine, damnit all.

WARNINGS: The slash and incest warnings take effect NOW.

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**Clandestine**

_Count to Ten_

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"_I wish that I could count to ten and make everything be wonderful again…"_

Eragon growled and threw a stone into the placid pond he was camped alongside, not caring at the moment if he woke Roran or Saphira. It had been three weeks since the battle at the Burning Plains, and the three had now set out on their seemingly hopeless rescue mission the day before, already halfway there after only one day of cautious travel.

Eragon growled again and threw a bigger rock. Being at war was exhausting, he decided. When one was battling against terrible enemies, one's closest friends, and against one's own mind, it was enough to destroy someone. Thus, it was amazing that Eragon was still sane after nearly a month of raging combat.

This was not to say that he was unscathed by the weeks that had passed; sleeping in short fits, snapping at Saphira, only speaking when spoken to…he had even brought a maid to tears when she had blocked a doorway. Everyone was aware of _something_ being wrong with the blue Rider, and several were even astute enough to draw the root as being Murtagh. None, however, fully understood the implications of his upset, nor did he ever _ever_ wish them to.

Eragon hated the way he was treating everyone; he knew they all meant well. But how could any of them understand the stress he was under, being constantly at odds with himself? He tossed and turned for hours each night, unable to slow the thoughts that barreled through his mind long enough to sleep, and when he finally did sleep he was plagued with dreams filled with dark hair, pale skin, and a rich voice that he knew all too well.

Finally, Eragon decided he had to move and stood to walk around the pond, trying to rid his mind of the endless stream of Murtagh-related thoughts. Eragon would give anything--_anything_ to be able to be able to think as he had before the battle against the red Rider. His mind had been full to brimming in the days since that thrice damned battle, and he hated every moment he spent angsting over things that would never be. It was pointless and only succeeded in creating a terrible headache.

He was weary, so very weary. He wished for his thoughts of Murtagh to once again be tinged with melancholy and loss rather than betrayal and a strange longing as they were now. He wanted to look at Arya and feel butterflies again. He wished for a night's sleep uninterrupted by hazel eyes or cold sweats upon waking…he wished to be free of this damnable 'love' that was supposed to be such a magical feeling. In his limited experiences, all things related to romantic feeling brought nothing but suffering onto the feeler.

Eragon stopped and kicked a stick hard towards the water, glaring at the ripples that flowed away from the point of impact. Only moments later the water was calm once more, only succeeding in annoying Eragon more. He wished to drop a boulder into the pond; would it mock him with its serenity then? He pinched the bridge of his nose and gritted his teeth; he was so exhausted, mentally and physically.

The silence of the night was broken by a quiet chuckle, "Brooding doesn't suit you, little brother," a familiar voice purred from the shadows.

Eragon immediately whipped around, pulling out the dwarf-made blade at his hip and already mentally brushing against his magic. He snarled at the barely noticeable form against a nearby tree, "What are _you_ doing here, traitor?" he spat, willing away his conflicted, exhausted emotions and readying himself to face the darker brunet.

The condescending smirk left Murtagh's lips and was replaced with a tight frown, "Why do you insist on acting like a foolish child, Eragon? How many times must I tell you that this is _not my choice_?"

"Just shut up!" Eragon cut in, though with considerably less venom than intended, "I can't handle this tonight. Either fight me or leave."

Hazel eyes widened before their owner slipped a mask over his expressions. His voice, though nearly monotone, held enough concern for Eragon to notice, "Are you ill?"

"Why in the hell do you care?" the younger hissed, regaining his righteous anger toward his opponent, "This is all _your_ goddamned fault anyway, you murdering traitor! Fight me or leave!"

Murtagh snarled at the lighter-brown haired man, drawing the crimson blade of their father and grinding his words past clenched teeth, "You are nothing but a petulant child, Eragon. Do you so enjoy your closed-off little world within your head? What you see as right is right, anything you see as wrong is wrong. You refuse to even try to see the view of another, unless it fits conveniently into your little utopian vision."

Eragon was speechless as the older man stalked toward him, Zar'roc held limply at his side but his knuckles white with the force which he gripped it. Eragon's sword was still raised in a defensive posture, but he was not about to attack. He was too busy listening to the threatening purr of his once-friend's voice, sure he had _never_ heard such anger in it before.

"You call me a murderer? Fine, I have killed. I have killed by your side and against it. What of you, _Shadeslayer_? You have killed countless men and beasts in order to preserve your own life, do you truly expect others not to do the same? Or do you see your life as that much more important than that of the rest of us?"

"That-That's not true!" Eragon recovered slightly, glaring at the paler man now only a foot in front of him, standing challengingly at the tip of Eragon's blade.

"Isn't it? Why am I such a vile murderer when you have killed as often as I? Do you think those men in Galbatorix's army did not have loved ones, family? Do you think many of them actually served willingly for that madman? You have no right to judge others when blood stains your own hands. What would you have done in my situation Eragon?" he finished in a roar, face flushed red in his anger.

Eragon swallowed a lump, nostrils flared, "I would have died," he croaked, stubbornly meeting dark hazel with his own brown eyes, refusing to let the cutting words affect him.

"As would have I," Murtagh said softly, the anger diminishing in an instant and a profound sadness filling his voice. His face was expressionless, but that voice betrayed him completely, "I was willing to die rather than serve that monster, rather than betray _you_," he grated out, "But then Thorn was born. Would you sacrifice Saphira for your ideals? If it was her life or service to Galbatorix, which would you have chosen?"

Eragon closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. He couldn't answer that because he knew the truth: he would have chosen anything to keep Saphira alive. She was a part of him and yet not, a sister and mother all in one. He could no sooner allow her to die than he could kill her himself. It was not an option. And he knew that Murtagh knew that.

The darker haired of the two stepped back, looking over the closed-eyed expression of his brother once more before bowing his head, "I am tasked to watch you, ordered to gather intelligence on your weaknesses. I will be near. If you come to your senses, you may find me, Eragon."

And the red Rider left Eragon alone at the pond's edge, his self-constructed world crumbling around him.

--

It had rained all through the day after his confrontation with Murtagh. From showers to _sheets_ of rain that soaked them all to the bone and ruined half their food, the rain had been a constant force that bogged down the already arduous journey and slowed down their already slow progress - they had to stay hidden and unnoticed, after all.

Eragon didn't mind the rain.

In fact, the young man was rather glad for the dreary weather - it matched his mood perfectly. His confrontation with Murtagh had served to made his already foul disposition even shoddier than before, his temper quicker and his silences stonier. Though he had managed sleep after the older man had left, miraculously, such was not managed the next night. Dawn was breaking and still Eragon laid awake. Overall, things had gone from bad to worse since the ten minutes it had taken for Murtagh to tear down his carefully shaped ideals and conceptions.

Murtagh had been right. Eragon scoffed mentally - of course Murtagh had been right. When had the bastard _not_ been right? Eragon was as much a murderer as he, so how could he really condemn him? What right did he have to spit filth at a man who was only out to save his and his dragon's life? Murtagh had hit the nail on the head - Eragon would have done the same thing, if forced into a corner.

_"I was willing to die rather than serve that monster, rather than betray you."_

Eragon's throat tightened at that thought. Had he really been in the older man's thoughts? Was he really such a deciding factor to him?

Eragon shook his head, his lip lifting in a silent snarl. No, he would_ not_ get sentimental right now. Murtagh, despite being right and not necessarily being at fault for his betrayal was _still_ Eragon's enemy…nothing could change that.

He ignored the stab of pain that gripped him at that thought. Could he honestly fight with the intent to kill Murtagh? Could he take the life of the person he was in love with, the life of his brother? Despite all of Eragon's conflicting emotions, he was nearly sure he would not be able to if forced into that situation. Perhaps he could have had he still believed the older man's servitude voluntary, but though Eragon was often oblivious, he was not in the habit of lying to himself.

He would not be able to kill his enemy.

An icy grip of fear clutched him then; what if Galbatorix set Murtagh against him? What could he possibly do against the red Rider if he was under orders to take Eragon's life? He certainly could not allow himself to die…not with Saphira's life so closely tied to his, not with the hopes of the Varden settled on his shoulders. He had too many responsibilities and he loved life far too much to allow it taken from him.

But that did not change the fact that he would not be able to kill Murtagh.

'_Damn it!'_ Eragon snarled to himself turning violently onto his side and ignoring the snort from Saphira's sleeping form, _'I am weak. What would be said of me, unable to kill a traitorous enemy because of affection I should not feel in the first place? Damn love and damn everything associated with it.'_

Eragon pulled himself from his dark thoughts; he had more important things to think about. Roran would be awake soon and they would be infiltrating Helgrind; a task that felt rather a lot like suicide to Eragon's currently pessimistic mind. He just hoped they would be able to rescue Katrina.

Roran's mood had already been sour, being forced to wait through several more weeks before the rescue mission for his beloved could take place. However, having several people remind him that it had already been months and that she was still alive after all that had tamed him slightly. The rain and ever-closing distance to the Ra'zac's fortress, though, had once again brought out the worst in Eragon's cousin, his bad mood focused on the believed source of his problems: Eragon. Not that the Rider noticed, anyway.

It was the timing, really, which was terrible in his opinion. It was like everything that possibly could go wrong in the previous month had decided it _would_ go wrong, and would only go wrong to Eragon. Lucky him. He was stuck within a whirlpool of a world that was currently sucking his very soul out, and he couldn't tell a soul about it. Because honestly, who would not think him crazy and overly paranoid if he shared such a thought?

His thoughts wandered back to Murtagh, the image behind his eyes snarling in wordless anger at Eragon, just as he had when last seen. Yes, Eragon had seen Murtagh angry. There had been their escape from Gil'ead, the time when Saphira had had to pull the two of them apart, as he had revealed his childhood and against the Urgals, the days after joining the Varden…but never had he sounded so…cold. He had been a burning cold, searing Eragon with his eyes and the tightly controlled tone of his voice, chilling him to the bone and scorching him with the ice that he spat.

Despite all his misgivings, no matter how much his mind told him it was wrong, he couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine at the memory, though. Even at the time, with all of his own self-righteous anger and spite directed towards the slightly older man, Eragon couldn't stop the less than innocent thoughts that had spun through his mind as Murtagh had leveled his dark gaze on him.

_The hand that was not holding Zar'roc traced a finger over Eragon's lips and up his jaw, dancing over his skin with a barely-felt touch. A shiver ran through the younger of the two as the fingers passed just under his ear, ticking the sensitive skin at his hairline, "Something wrong, brother?" Murtagh purred in that same cold voice, dark eyes never leaving fawn brown._

_"D-Don't call me that," Eragon barely managed, his body trembling as elegant fingers tangled in his hair._

_The fingers tightened painfully, yanking Eragon flush against the paler man, his sword clattering to the ground between them, "And why shouldn't I?" Murtagh hissed._

_Eragon gasped and winced, but never took his eyes off the older man, "Because I don't wish to be reminded of it when I am about to do this."_

_Eragon pressed his lips firmly to Murtagh's, only to gasp as the older bit his lower lip firmly, taking control of the kiss immediately. A moan escaped one of them - who was to know which of them, really? - and Eragon rose his now empty hands to cradle Murtagh's face, the act of tenderness out of place in the hungry and bruising kiss._

_When they broke apart panting, Murtagh's previously angry eyes held a new fire, "Now Eragon…wake up."_

_"Huh?"_

"Wake up, Eragon, damnit!"

Eragon shot upright with a gasp, eyes darting around the faintly lit clearing. Roran stood over him with a scowl, "Get up. We need to leave now."

His heart still beating painfully fast, Eragon managed a convincing nod and stood, setting to stuffing anything that had been used into their hanging satchels of supplies. '_A dream,'_ he thought, _'Just a dream. It was not real, it was just a dream.'_ It was a mantra for the young man as he tried to banish the last remnants of his short nap and subsequent hallucination. He had a mission to complete, and he would not have such thoughts distracting him from his goal. Murtagh had no place in his mind now.

--

©

A huge, twisted shape hurtled out of the lancet passageway. Eyes black, bulging, rimless. A beak seven feet long. Batlike wings. The torso naked, hairless, rippling with muscle. Claws like iron spikes.

Saphira lurched as she tried to evade the Lethrblaka, but to no avail. The creature crashed into her right side with that felt like to Eragon like the strength and fury of an avalanche.

What exactly happened next, he knew not, for the impact send him tumbling through space without so much as a half-formed thought in his jumbled brain. His blind flight ended as abruptly as it began when something hard and flat rammed against the back of him, and he dropped to the floor, banging his head a second time.

That last collision drove the remaining air clean out of Eragon's lungs. Stunned, he lay curled on his side, gasping and struggling to regain a semblance of control over his unresponsive limbs.

_//Eragon!//_ cried Saphira.

©

--

Eragon opened his eyes blearily, trying to understand the situation he was now in. He remembered the illusion that had surrounded Helgrind…oh. The Lethrblaka. Blinking at his surroundings he saw only darkness. Where was he? Where were Roran and Saphira?

_//Saphira?//_ he tried weakly, reaching out around him for any source of life. He felt the lazy presence of a mold or fungi close by to him, some parasitical creatures living within it…then nothing. He could not reach out beyond a five foot radius of himself, no matter how he tried.

Even with his extraordinary sight, Eragon could not see in the inky blackness that surrounded him. He raised himself into a crouch slowly, silently, his senses and magic coursing around him as he tried to discover his surroundings. A small room. '_A cell,'_ his mind added, taking in the stone floors and walls and seeming absence of a door.

"Brisingr," he murmured, gasping as the magic lurched its way out of his body. It was not the easy, second-nature release that he was used to, it was as if there was a tug of war within his body for access to his magic. He grunted as the spell took, the blue flame illuminating that he was, in fact, in a cell. There was no discernable door, but after Helgrind's illusionary façade, he wouldn't be surprised at anything the Ra'zac might have magically changed.

Another wheeze passed his lips as he felt the monumental drain the simple spell was putting on his still exhausted body, and allowed the flame to peter out. There was something in the walls that he had not noticed on his preliminary inspection that was draining him, something insidious, unnatural. The last thought before unconsciousness claimed him was a scoffing, _'Passing out twice in one day - how annoying.'_

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A/N: I got very little response on my second chapter…wondering if there was no more interest in this story or if it was just the screw-ups with the Notifications. Hope there is still interest, because this bunny has bitten me in the arse and won't let go. I'm having a hard time writing my usual Saiyuki stuff or concentrating on Gundam Wing episodes because this story won't get out of my head. LOL. Well, give me feedback lovies.

I hope I was able to keep Eragon in character while giving him the tools needed to stop being such a douche. I love the boy…but damn did he piss me off at the end of Eldest. Bastard. I wanted to kick him in the nuts. I believe, though, that he _would_ come to his senses if the truth was shoved in his face, much as the situation with the Urgals was.


	4. Never Could Get It

-1Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect of this lovely series, and we should all be glad for this. It wouldn't be half as good if I did.

I decided to leave the majority of the torture scene I had written out of this chapter. It was quite…graphic and gory, and that isn't the tone I want for this story. So forgive me if it feels choppy because of its absence. Well, the chapter itself is meant to be very choppy because of Eragon's bouts of unconsciousness…but hey. :P

Important feedback needed. See end of chapter.

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**Clandestine**

_Never Could Get It_

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"_You never could get it unless you were fed it, and now you're here and you don't know why…"_

Eragon awoke feeling another presence uncomfortably close, a dark aura hanging around it. He feigned sleep and listened to his surroundings, hoping to learn of what was so near to him before he revealed his consciousness. The air smelt of rotting meat and the copper tang of blood hung in the air - whether it was another's or his own Eragon couldn't tell.

"Not tricky enough, little Rider," a rasping voice said rather close to his ear, "We know you have awoken."

Eragon rolled to his right, away from the voice, and settled in a defensive position. '_Ra'zac,'_ he hissed mentally, fawn brown eyes narrowing in disdain. The creatures who had ruined his life, the creatures who had killed both Brom and his Uncle. Instinctively he reached for his magic, already forming incantations in his head when he felt the same ominous presence around him - some kind of drain on his magic. Eragon paled slightly and set his jaw; he would have to fight without it. He couldn't risk passing out again.

The nearest of the two Ra'zac hissed out a laugh, "Sssilly human. You think you can fight usss? You are lucky that the King wishesss you alive - we would allowed our brethren to kill you already if he did not. Magic makesss food more deliciousss.'

Eragon clenched his fists at the hunchbacked bird-like creatures. If they thought he wouldn't fight, they were wrong. '_Dead wrong,'_ he thought dryly, in a moment of dark hopefulness, "Try me, you disgusting bastards!"

It was his own arrogance that was his defeat; he had not counted on the magic drain to affect his senses as well. He hadn't even felt them move before they had grabbed him and had him shackled to the wall, screaming obscenities and lashing out for all he was worth. The first Ra'zac struck him hard across the jaw while the second landed a blow to his solar plexus, knocking the breath from him.

One of the Ra'zac raised a gnarled fist and Eragon had the distinct impression it would be grinning if he could see its beak-like mouth. Clenched in the wrinkled appendage was the handle to a wicked looking whip. Eragon couldn't help the panic that rose within him, nor the widened eyes that gave his trepidation away to his captors.

--

_Crack._

The whip bore down across his back, the pain like fire. But Eragon refused to scream.

_Crack. Crack. Crack._

Again and again the blistering pain came, marring his skin with long weals.

_CraCK._

A whimper left his throat as the whip connected with one of its previous marks. He felt the blood trickle down his back.

_Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. CRACK._

A scream now. Eragon could hold it no more. His screams left his throat raw and his eyes streaming with tears, and wishing beyond anything that they pain would ebb.

--

With a moan, Eragon tried to inch his way to a sitting position, slowly so as to not split open his barely scabbed over wounds. The first lashes had hurt so badly…but the welts had been nothing in comparison to when the strikes began rending his skin, cleaving it in sluggishly bleeding lines. Now the bleeding had stopped, at least…but the pain remained. Every tiny movement stretched his skin, pulling at the dried blood and precariously healed wounds.

The Ra'zac were using some sort of potion on the whip, making his wounds scab over quickly but slowing any further healing. He also attributed whatever they used to his extraordinarily slowed reaction times and long bouts of unconsciousness.

Eragon moaned groggily; he couldn't sleep no matter his exhaustion. He hoped unconsciousness would soon come for him, because being awake with the fire-like pain across his back, legs, and arms was torment all in itself. He couldn't even use his magic to ease it. He had been lying nearly motionless for hours now in his dark cell, shirtless and cold.

When the hidden door opened, he couldn't find the will or energy to move away from his captors. He merely moaned as he was grabbed roughly by his hair and dragged bodily from the room and strapped once again to the wall. Tears burned his eyes as he felt many of his wounds reopen, and a few of them fell with his first scream as the whip came down again across them.

The torture wouldn't end.

--

Eragon slowly because conscious again, unable to open his swollen eyes. He could feel another presence close by, but damn if he just didn't care. His moan was more of a whimper as he tried to deny awareness and slip back into oblivion.

His back was blessedly numb at the moment, several days of alternating torture sessions and long hours left in the cold having finally deadened any pain he might feel. Later, he knew, the pain would be back full force…but for now, he was mercifully deadened.

He couldn't even concentrate enough to reach out with his mind to identify the current intruder, and at this point honestly wished for death. He had no means of escape without his magic, and the cruelty of his captors had made sure he was physically unable to resist them. He had stopped hoping for Saphira after the first few hours, instead simply wishing for whatever fate awaited him to hurry up and come.

Saphira. Eragon wished beyond all else that his dragon lived, that she was unharmed. He didn't know what he would do if any harm had come to her, if something happened without him being able to save her. He had no sanguine hopes of her rescuing him, but he simply hoped that she herself lived. He hoped for resolution or death to come swiftly…but he had no real hopes.

Therefore, it was a surprise when he felt warm fingers brush matted hair from his face, tentatively tracing over his swollen eyes and the cuts that adorned his face, "Oh, Eragon…" the owner of the fingers whispered nearly inaudibly.

Eragon felt his wakefulness slipping as he tried to place the voice, forcing his eyes open a crack. The darkness was faintly illuminated in an orange light, but his vision was too blurry to see anything before the void took him again.

--

Eragon was awake for a long time before he managed to open his eyes. He mentally took stock of his numerous injuries cataloguing every lash, welt, and bruise. This fingers of his left hand had been shattered, the entire backside of his body was nearly torn to shreds, his face was a myriad of bruises and knife wounds. He willed his groggy mind to clear so he could figure out what was different now, what was present that hadn't been the last time he had awoken.

Then it hit him. He was warm for the first time in days.

Tiredly, Eragon blinked at the ground near to his face, the shadows of the forest lengthened by the glowing embers of a dying fire. A scratchy woolen blanket was laid over him, tucked around his shoulders. He was on his stomach - for obvious reasons - but he had a surprisingly good range of vision. He spent many long minutes looking out into the dark woodland he somehow found himself in before something--some_one_--obscured his vision.

"Awake?" the somehow familiar someone asked, eying Eragon with a troubled concern. Dark, nearly black stray hairs brushed the person's chin and the expression on their face was grim at best.

Eragon nodded slowly.

"I wondered if you would tonight. I was…worried."

Eragon blinked at the person, his mind trying to piece things together. He scrunched up his nose in thought; he remembered an indeterminate number of days spent in the dark, pulled out only for more lashes to be administered. He remembered losing hope, waiting for death. He remembered desiring nothing more than the blue dragon's safety…Saphira!

"Saphira?" he croaked out to the someone leaning down to meet his eyes.

"She is resting as well. Her injuries were nothing so serious as yours, but she exhausted herself trying to get to you."

Eragon nodded as his mind began to clear, becoming more conscious of his own pain. The head throbbed, his back felt like fire, his bones ached. His hand, which he knew had been smashed, was surprisingly not hurting at all for some reason. He shifted slightly, attempting to raise the hand and silently cried out.

The familiar someone watched him grimace with sad eyes, a hand reaching out to push stray hairs from Eragon's face, "I'm…I'm sorry it took be so long to get you out. Once you can move, we need to wash the poison out of your wounds so I can heal them. I do not know what the reaction would be if I tried to purge them magically."

Eragon locked eyes with dark brown flecked with green and his memory finally clicked into place. Familiar hazel eyes that haunted his dreams framed by dark hair that fell nearly to broad shoulders. Murtagh.

"Y-You saved me?" Eragon managed, too exhausted to protest, "Why? You are my _enemy_…"

The older man sat back on his heels, eyes hard, "No, I am _not,_" he said forcefully, "I have told you that I do not serve Galbatorix by choice. I may be on the opposing side by force, but I will _never_ be your enemy."

Eragon blinked in surprise at the vehemence in his brother's voice, eyeing him anew, "Won't you be punished for this?"

Dark eyes cut away, "Yes. I do not care. The Ra'zac were going against orders with their torture, and Galbatorix wanted me to ensure your survival; you are of no use to him dead. I will be punished, but he will not kill me."

Eragon searched for something - anything! - to say, but came up blank as his consciousness began wavering. The last thing he saw as he slipped into Morpheus was the same dark eyes that had haunted his dreams hovering so near to his own, emotions crossing through them too quickly to give name to.

--

When Eragon awoke next, his mind was more clear than it had been in days. He again thought back to whatever the Ra'zac had coated the whip in; it had to be the reason he had felt so foggy. He sat up slowly, surprised to find that he was sleeping on his back and was without pain. He quickly looked around.

Saphira was sleeping a few feet away, her head resting only inches from where he had lain. Across the dead fire was Roran, bruised but otherwise healthy and wrapped around who Eragon assumed was Katrina; all he could see of the person was dirtied white clothing and a faint glimpse of copper-toned hair. Eragon let pastel brown eyes trail around the campsite for the familiar figure he knew should be there, but found nothing. He frowned…it hadn't been a dream, had it? Murtagh really _had_ saved him, hadn't he?

Eragon had no further time for contemplation, as Saphira's gemlike blue eyes slid open at this moment, immediately seeking him out. Upon finding him awake, her head shot up and he felt her immediately reaching out for him mentally.

_//Eragon? Oh Eragon! You are awake…are you well? Are you hungry? Do you need anything?//_

_//I am fine, Saphira.//_ Eragon interjected, smiling weakly at his dragon, _//Though I feel very drained. What…what happened?//_

Saphira rose from her place and slowly made her way to him, lying close to her Rider and curling around him, _//When…when the Lethrblaka managed to get you, all I could do was grab Roran and get out. It disappeared immediately with you and another came to fight…I knew I had to get your nest-mate to safety. I came back after, and I fought to free you, I looked for another way in, I searched…it was not until Thorn and Murtagh forced me down that I stopped.//_

Eragon ran his hand over the nearest scales to him to calm her, eliciting a small purr from the dragon, _//Thank you. Where are they now?//_

_//Murtagh believed you would need food upon waking, and left for that reason. I…I am thankful to him. We owe him a debt.//_

Eragon nodded slowly, _//This is twice now that he has rescued me, this time at his own risk. How did Katrina come to be free?//_

_//It seems your nest-mate owes Murtagh a debt as well.//_

Roran began stirring then, eyes slowly traversing the campsite to rest on Eragon's wakened form. He tipped his head in acknowledgement, but made no move to approach his cousin, simply looking back down to the woman in his arms. Eragon smiled, happy for him…no one deserved the pain he knew Roran had been through.

Eragon tried to stand, intending to have a chance to speak to his cousin without disturbing the position he was in with his beloved, but his knees buckled when his weight was upon them, making the blue Rider slump back against his dragon. He growled, which was answered by a chuckle from the tree line.

Murtagh was smiling slightly, "You should eat and drink before you try to move…you went four days with nothing."

Eragon grimaced; four days?! He absentmindedly rubbed at his healed back, looking up at Murtagh, "You healed me?"

"Yes," the older of the two said simply, "Once Thorn informed me that Saphira had awoken, I tasked the them to bring water and come to where we were. We cleaned them of the poison that was used and I healed you easily."

Eragon pursed his lips and looked away, "Thank you. You should not have had to do any of this."

He could hear the smirk in Murtagh's voice as he answered, "No, I should not have…but I did."

Eragon turned again, meeting the dark eyes with his own lighter ones, "Why, Murtagh?" he said quietly, feeling the name on his tongue for the first time in weeks, "Why are you risking yourself?"

A true smile tilted the red Rider's lips now, a soft expression, "I could not help it."

Eragon couldn't help but smile back, accepting a bit of broth and bread as it was handed to him. He found his eyes raising to Murtagh more often than he watched his food and usually found dark eyes on him as well. It was strange, being so close to the other man again without feeling like he should be fighting with him. But it was a good strange, and Eragon fought down a blush as he was caught staring for the third time.

Neither of them noticed the narrowed, forgotten set of eyes that watched the exchange from a few feet away, suspiciously watching the interaction between the two.

--

A high pitched though rather short screech was what broke the silence nearly an hour later, Eragon's hand immediately falling to the hilt of his recovered sword. Murtagh had tensed as well, presumably ready to attack any threat.

Roran had gone to the nearby creek to wash up, leaving the recovering Katrina sleeping soundly. The redhead had awoken now and was staring in disbelief towards the…ah, yes. Dragons. Eragon supposed it might be a bit of a shock to come out of captivity only to see two things of myth and fable lying docilely only a few feet away. Her blue eyes were comically wide, fingers wringing at the hem of her smudged cream colored gown.

Eragon nearly laughed at the reaction before simply smiling, dipping his head to the girl he had once known in passing and catching her attention, "It is alright, Katrina. They won't harm you."

For several moments, she looked at the blue Rider blankly, blue eyes flicking over his face as she tried to place him. Finally, it seemed to click when he gave an embarrassed smile and let his eyes wander, "E-Eragon?" she said with a gasp, her hands raising to clasp at her chest, "Oh it _is_ you! Thank the gods! How did I get free? Where is Roran? Why are there _dragons_ here?"

Eragon blinked at the rush of questions, already trying to find answers to them. Apparently Roran had not seen fit to fill the girl in on the situation when she had last been awake, and Eragon smiled feebly. Thankfully, said man entered the clearing then, seeing his beloved awake and immediately sweeping over to her and beginning to answer the tirade of questions.

Eragon very nearly sighed exasperatedly when she had goggled at him for long minutes after learning of what he was. Her comments had been of the nature of '_Him?_ A _Rider_?' and then several notes on his rather scrawny appearance in childhood. He took it all with a wry smile as Murtagh chuckled behind him. Was it really so hard for those who knew him to associate him with being a Rider? Surely it wasn't _that_ big of a stretch?

Comfortable silence reigned on Murtagh and Eragon's side of the large clearing, each of them leaning against their dragons and lost in their own thoughts. Eragon took to watching Roran and Katrina's interactions rather that listening to the recount of the last month, smiling softly at the absent touches and genuine smiles they only seemed to give one another. _That_ was what Eragon had always wanted…a kind of love that brought an easy smile, not heart-wrenching agony at the thought of it. He would give near anything for what those two had.

"I must go," Murtagh suddenly said in a strained voice, his eyes darkened even more than usual.

Eragon, startled, looked up and blinked, "Will you return?"

A brisk shake of his head, and Murtagh looked toward Roran with a wary glance, "That would not be wise."

Eragon understood immediately. Despite having been the one to save Katrina, Roran was highly suspicious of every move Murtagh made, and Eragon understood that any kind of truce the two Riders had would have to remain between the two of them. Even Saphira's thankfulness left her cautious of the other Rider, constantly shooting narrowed eyes toward both him and the large crimson dragon that was resting behind him.

Murtagh twitched nearly spastically, quickly getting to his feet, "The next time we meet, I hope I will not be forced to save you yet again, little brother," Murtagh drawled with a sarcastic smirk, but the expression did not meet his eyes.

Eragon smiled slightly before scowling, "The next time we meet I will not let you walk away."

Murtagh inclined his head and signaled to his dragon, moving in jerky movements as he mounted. Eragon as worried; the way Murtagh was acting, he could tell the other man had been summoned back to Urû'baen. Making sure to close of his link to Saphira and angling himself out of the others' line of sight, he mouthed a few words to his newly reunited friend, getting a hardly noticeable smile in return. Then the red dragon and Rider were off, rising above the treetops and gliding into the distance.

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A/N: Ah, Eragon torture. I had far too much fun doing it.

I hope the OOCness is alright…don't worry, Eragon won't be so 'okay' with the situation for long. I don't know how Eragon would act in a situation such as this, so I have to go with my gut instinct. I hope no one was terribly disgusted. -sigh-

This story is going much faster than anticipated…but I need you to know that them getting together is not the end-all of this story. It is truly only the beginning. This story will be going through the reactions of all the characters and the final battle with Galbatorix to boot…so you're in for a ride here, folks.

**POLLS!**

I want all of your opinions really fast, my hearts. There are two aspects of this story that I am going to leave in all of your hands, as I am torn in two directions with them

**1)** I will warn you all now, most of the characters in this story are going to be VERY disagreeing with Eragon and Murtagh as a couple when they find out. Oh, and they will find out. Some will be just rather squicked, others adamantly against either the incestual nature of the relationship or the homosexual aspect. But, I do want to give Eragon an ally. He's going to need someone other than Saphira to stand by him. So, I am giving you guys the choice of who will, though likely a bit appalled to begin with, will recover and stand by Eragon anyway. Others will come around, but only one or two will accept it from the get. No more than one or two votes, please. (¤ denotes my two preferred choices, but I will take popularity over them)

Who:: Arya, Nasuada¤, Trianna, Katrina¤, Roran, Orik, Orrin ? Other?

**2)** Who shall end up being the green Rider? Should it go unfound? Shall we go cliché and (possibly) canon and use Roran? Not found until after Galbatorix's defeat? Vanir from Ellesméra? An OC bad guy (likely female, since all the riders thus far are guys, and if I'm going to be disgusting and make an OC, I'd like it to not be lame)? Other?

Thank you guys for your help.


	5. What I Wanna Hear

-1Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect of this lovely series, and we should all be glad for this. It wouldn't be half as good if I did.

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**Clandestine**

_What I Wanna Hear_

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"_Don't tell me what I wanna hear, afraid of never knowing fear, experience anything you need, I'll keep fighting jealousy, 'til its fucking gone…"_

Eragon smiled down at the fields they now flew over; finally within Surdian borders, Saphira could fly in the open once more. Eragon peeked over his shoulder at his two passengers; they could not fly for long with their third passenger and had been traveling for a week because of it, but moods were rather lifted in comparison to a few days prior.

Suddenly, Eragon's smile became a wicked smirk, unnoticed by the two people behind him. He leaned low over Saphira's neck, _//No more hiding…why not show these two how we really fly?//_

_//With an extra passenger?//_ Saphira replied, though he felt her own smirk in return, _//Are they secured to me?//_

_//I tied the straps myself. It's been weeks, I want to feel the wind!//_

Saphira smiled warmly over their bond and he felt the slight pause in her momentum before gravity went to work, yanking them all in a spiral down to the quickly-nearing green earth below. Eragon laughed, shouting his pleasure of the moment it whoops of joy, as Roran and Katrina shrieked behind him. Katrina, who sat between the two men, dug her fingernails into Eragon's arms, her grip tightening more by the second.

It was only this that caused Eragon to pull out of the dive, still laughing merrily as they swooped low over a family working in a farm field. All its members had stopped to stare, the children cheering and waving and the adults in some kind of awe, watching every move the giant dragon made. Saphira laughed merrily, the reptilian version of the sound lost in the rush of wind but felt by Eragon mentally.

Every time that he went more than a day or two without a free and wild flight with Saphira, he vowed he would never allow time to pass without it again. The feeling of falling, gliding between air currents and soaring over obstacles…it was a hedonistic feeling that was unlike anything Eragon had ever imagined. He couldn't imagine going his entire life without feeling the freedom of a freefall, unafraid of injury, knowing you would be safe even as the ground rose to meet you.

All too soon, Eragon's pleasure was muted as Surdia's castle came into view, and he knew that he would soon be once again caught up in the politics of war, again forced to think about every step he took lest he offend one of the many parties surrounding him. Again his every move would be watched… Eragon couldn't help the despondent sigh that escaped him. Ignoring his days spent captive, the last week had been wonderful. For the first time in weeks Eragon had been able to think clearly, his mood lifted, and free to continue as slowly or quickly as he pleased.

Guards nodded and messengers set out at a run as Saphira glided in a languid circle, slowly lowering their altitude until she was over the courtyard and could easily drop to the ground.

"Let me off!" Katrina heaved out, already fiddling with the bands around her legs.

Eragon laughed and dismounted, helping the redhead with more stable fingers, "Was that _so_ bad?"

Katrina had been nearly impossible to get off the ground, with a fear of heights and a paranoia of Saphira. Katrina was kind to the dragon and liked her well enough, but Eragon thought that the girl from Carvahall had a hard time adjusting to Saphira being more than a beast of burden. The blue-eyed woman glared daggers at Eragon, hopping down quickly and looking ready to kiss the earth beneath her feet in her gratitude.

Roran glared exasperatedly down at Eragon, his already shaggy hair currently wind ruffled and sticking out in all directions, "Was that necessary?"

Saphira snorted her thoughts on the matter.

"Live a little, Roran," Eragon said with a cheeky smile, "How many people can say they've done that?"

Dark blue eyes softened, and Roran smiled at his cousin. Nights before they had finally talked without the tension of the previous weeks between them, apologies given and the long, full stories of the past year rehashed. Eragon's heart was lighter for it, and he felt much more at ease alongside his cousin--no, his brother.

That thought had lightened him as well. _This_ was his true brother, the one whom had grown up by his side, told embarrassing stories of his childhood, wrestled him and mocked him in good nature. Murtagh was a man whom shared his blood, Morzan merely half his parentage. His father was Garrow, his brother Roran…and nothing could change that. No revelation of blood relation could change the life Eragon had lived until now, and nothing could make him forsake what he knew.

'_And nothing can make me see Murtagh as merely my brother.'_

Eragon scowled mentally and shoved the snippy voice from his mind; he didn't need to dwell on Murtagh now. His mood, though dampened by knowledge of what was to come in the following hours, was lighter than it had been in weeks; he didn't need thoughts of the enigmatic brunet mucking that up for him.

A servant coughed lightly from his right, her hands clasped in front of her and her head bowed. Eragon blinked rapidly; servants were busy helping the tack off of Saphira and unpacking the remaining items attached to it. At some point in his musings Roran and Katrina had begun walking into the castle proper, both looking around in awe as they were led - assumedly - to a place which they could clean up.

He smiled at the servant girl, who blushed and cut her eyes away, "My lady Nasuada wishes an audience, Eragon Shadeslayer."

"Alright, will you lead me?"

The girl nodded briskly and turned, already several steps away before Eragon's mind caught up and he followed her, walking down the familiar labyrinth of castle halls and admiring several art pieces that adorned the walls. He was not much looking forward to having the relay the recent events to the Varden's leader; she had been extremely reluctant to allow his and Roran's mission to Helgrind and had been very vocal in her opposition…but in seeing Eragon's resolve had reluctantly crumbled. When she found out that he had been captured and that Ra'zac still lived - something he and Roran would correct soon enough - she would be furious.

Even more, he was not looking forward to revealing Murtagh's help in his escape. He knew it would breed distrust, be he knew better than to lie to Nasuada either. His oath of fealty and his own honor refused that to even be a possibility. He breathed in a deep breath as he finally reached his destination, nodding in dismissal to the servant girl and pushing open the heavy door.

Within was a long table; this was the room they most often used for meetings. At his entrance, Nasuada's head popped up and a smile stretched over her face, immediately she ran and engulfed him into a hug, "Thank the gods, Eragon!"

Also present were Arya, Orik, Jörmundur, and the Kull Nar Garzhvog…it seemed this was a serious meeting. Eragon sighed mentally and greeted each in turn with smiles and formal sentiment, even Garzhvog; in the weeks between the battle at the Burning Plains and his departure for Helgrind, the two had come to something of an understanding. They did not converse, and the Urgal was rarely even around (the group of them stayed in the outlying forests), but there was a silent respect between them.

He bowed his head and murmured a few words to Nasuada while everyone taking seats around the table. They spoke for nearly a half an hour on the current state of affairs, getting reports on the intelligence received. Eragon only partially listened, dreading the moment he knew was sure to come. Sure enough, the leader of the Varden took charge with a shrewd look at Eragon, "You were gone longer than expected."

Eragon felt her suspicion; the dark-skinned woman was nothing if not perceptive. He shifted slightly in his seat, feeling a bit like a guilty child, "There were complications."

"Such as?" Arya asked quietly, one eyebrow risen as she watched his squirming.

Eragon began quietly, telling of the cave, the Lethrblaka, his capture and torture. He hesitated as he spoke of waking out of captivity, unsure of what to say in the mixed company. He rose his eyes and saw the aghast look on Nasuada's face and the narrow-eyed anger of Arya. Orik looked livid at the thought of the torture, while Jörmundur and Garzhvog seemed less effected. He gritted his teeth, "I had been freed from imprisonment and healed, as well as Katrina."

He was cut off by both Arya and Nasuada, both sets of their eyes narrowing dangerously, "Freed by whom? Surely not the Ra'zac," Nasuada inputted, black eyes astute.

Eragon met her gaze evenly, face blank, "Murtagh."

Gasps sounded through the room, immediately the suspicion that filled it becoming thick, heavy. Eragon glanced from the hardness of Arya's gaze to the shocked--hopeful?--look in Nasuada's, and ground to a halt on the black rage that covered Orik's bearded face.

Shit. Orik.

Eragon cursed mentally in several languages; how could he have been so callous? In the weeks since Hrothgar's funeral, in between his own angst and planning Katrina's rescue mission, Eragon had hardly thought of the late Dwarf King. How could he have forgotten that Murtagh had slain his friend, the one who had adopted him against all opposition into his clan? Sure, it had been a mostly political move on Hrothgar's part…but he had been a fine King, and a good friend.

It felt like cold water dropped over Eragon's head, the last remnants of his good mood washing away instantly. He could forgive Murtagh so many things, knowing it was beyond his control…but this? The loss of a figurehead, a loved one of one of his closest friends? Could he really turn a blind eye to that? He very nearly shivered under the dark stare of Orik, the new Dwarf King, his eyes promising retribution - retribution that Eragon had promised upon Hrothgar's death.

Eragon forcibly tore his light brown eyes away from the painful gaze, staring instead down at his fingers, suddenly inexplicably interested in his fingernails. Nasuada broke the stretching silence, "Murtagh saved you?" she asked quietly, "Why?"

"I don't know," Eragon said honestly, not meeting her eyes, "We did not speak much," not a lie - they honestly didn't, "and we did not part on friendly terms," not quite a lie - he had been summoned away, and suspicion had been abound.

Nasuada seemed to take this at face value, a small smile on her lips, "He enjoys making it difficult to think of him objectively as the enemy, doesn't he?" she said softly as if to herself, but Eragon heard and his hackles rose instantly. A burning rage coiled deep in his stomach and he nearly growled aloud before reigning himself in, blanking his face and hoping no one had correctly interpreted the seething possessiveness that had flashed across his countenance. A surreptitious look said no one had, though Arya was watching him curiously.

"Regardless of why," Nasuada said clearly, "This is not the issue. You were able to get free with the hostage and return safely."

Orik's hands slammed into the tabletop, "Stop sounding _thankful_ for that murderous bastard!" he roared, "He is a coward who slew Hrothgar, and nothing he can do will change that! I will have his head on a pike before this war ends!"

Pain.

Eragon dared not meet anyone's eyes in the tense silence that followed, sure they would betray his conflicting emotions. On one hand he agreed - the death of Hrothgar could not go unavenged. On the other…he know he could not just allow Murtagh to be killed…no matter if he could ever forgive his brother for what he had done.

"I believe we should meet again tomorrow," Arya said in a soft but firm voice, "I am sure Eragon needs his rest after such a journey."

Still unwilling to look up or speak, Eragon merely nodded.

"You are all dismissed," Nasuada affirmed, "Eragon, a moment please?"

The others filed out, various expressions on their faces, and Eragon remained where he was, staring down at his fingers that he twisted nervously. He knew what was coming. The click of the door closing finally forced his eyes up to the piercing black of Nasuada, trained solely on him.

"How is he?" she asked in a soft voice that nearly brought the hot jealousy rushing back, "How is he really, Eragon?"

The blue Rider took a slow breath, the corners of his lips turning down, "He seems…well. But…unhappy. He is not fighting for Galbatorix by choice…"

"I thought as much," she smiled then, "He has far too much honor to fight for that man."

Eragon only nodded.

"Do you wish things were different, Eragon?"

He pursed his lips; did he? Because every minute change effected everything around it…so did he wish things had happened differently? Perhaps that Murtagh had not been taken by Galbatorix? But then, the Traitor King knew Murtagh's true name, and Murtagh would never have found himself to be Thorn's rider, likely being controlled by Galbatorix in the midst of battle to harm Eragon, who would have been unaware. Perhaps he wished not to be Murtagh's brother, or to be in love with him? He wished nearly daily that neither were the case…

But no. It was cheating ones self to regret anything, to wish to change the past. That was done was done, and life was about living as it came, and making due with the choices made. He smiled softly then, his eyes flickering back up to Nasuada, "No. No I do not."

The dark woman smiled back and nodded before turning serious, pulling her eyes away to gaze out the window, "I only hope you can keep a clear head, Eragon. I wish no pain for you…but you must keep your distance from him, you know."

Eragon knew. He wasn't so sure he would obey this particular advice, but he knew it was best.

"Go, rest. You have had a hard week. I am very glad you have returned," she said with the smallest twitch of her lips before turning away from him and losing herself in gazing out the window. Eragon bowed to her back before slipping out the door and heading towards his room. He wanted a long bath and a day of sleep.

--

They had been in war planning for hours the next morning bright and early, planning where they would strike to try to stay ahead of Galbatorix. Nasuada was adamant about needing to hit the enemy before they attacked, though the thought made Eragon queasy. What could they do against Galbatorix's full army? He knew the Burning Plains battle had been a bare fraction of what the evil King held, and that was without himself to face.

Eragon absently chewed on a lock of hair as he listened to Garzhvog give a report of what one of his Urgal spies had heard near Urû'baen, his mind wandering. He wondered what Murtagh was doing; he worried for his brother greatly. How angry had Galbatorix been? He would surely be angry, of course, since Murtagh had allowed the escape of what would have been the Traitor King's greatest trophy - Eragon. With Eragon would come the fall of the Varden as well as the use of the only female dragon, and Murtagh had allowed that chance to slip away.

Eragon shuddered to imagine Murtagh in the shape he himself had been in a week prior, bloodied and bruised. And unlike him, Murtagh did not have someone to save and heal him…healing oneself was exceptionally difficult. Wide lips tightened in annoyance, and Eragon was ready to just leave the rather droll meeting, his mind already spinning rescue missions for the older man.

He knew it was a stupid thought…after all, how does one go about saving the enemy? But Eragon was not the type to lie down and allow his loved ones to be harmed, especially not at Galbatorix's hand. He didn't care that the evil King could crush him…he hated knowing Murtagh was under his thumb and unable to choose a path for himself. It left an ill feeling snaking its way through his stomach.

The meeting adjourned without any set plans, and Eragon moved blindly from the room. His eyes were glassy as his mind whipped through worst-case scenarios and the tugs at his heart grew fiercer, demanding that he repay the debt to the older man and save him as he had been saved. He didn't even feel the presence following him until a hand touched his elbow, ripping him from his reverie as he spun to face the threat.

He relaxed instantly, seeing Arya looking at him with a confused air about her, immediately bowing, "Arya Svit-kona," he said quickly, feeling badly. He had hardly spoken a word to the princess since his return. The knowledge only compounded how far he had fallen from the reality he had been so sure of only a few months prior and nearly provoked a violent reaction, "Do you need something?"

Her lips pursed, "I called your name several times, Eragon…what weighs so heavily on your mind?"

His immediate reaction was to run from the questioning, but he rejected the idea and smiled tightly, "This planning for war…I worry. I do not wish to see more lives lost."

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion but she nodded, "I wish to ask you more about your captivity. You mentioned something within the walls that drained your magic…can you describe the feeling?"

"It felt…like a stopper had been placed over my magic. I had to fight to release even the smallest of my magic, and if I was able to use it at all, it began to pour from me unfettered. It could easily had taken my life had I tried a more difficult spell."

Arya's face reflected trepidation, "It is Dhamyr stone. I was afraid of that. I wonder if the entire complex is made of it…" she seemed to be speaking to herself, eyes far off.

"If that is all…" Eragon began, hoping to beat a hasty retreat.

"I wish to know why Murtagh saved you." It was not a question.

Eragon cringed noticeably, "I do not know why."

Arya watched him with interest, her dark green eyes seeming to look into his soul, "You do not seem upset with him as you were before this instance."

Eragon restrained his urge to cringe this time, but he looked away, "He saved my life."

"That changes nothing. He is still the enemy, and you must be prepared to fight him. You are the only one who can."

Eragon ignored the stabbing pain the comment produced and nodded, taking his leave as quickly as was politely possible. He hated being reminded that the small measure of peace he had attained two weeks prior was just a fantasy, that it would come crashing down again the minute a battle raged. He hated the reminder and he hated feeling conflicted in the first place. He nearly smashed a fist into the wall before Saphira's voice echoed through his mind.

_//Eragon? Thorn just contacted me…//_

----------

A/N: Sorry loves, not really meant to be a cliffy, but I had to cut out there. We get Murtagh's side next chapter. Forgive moi?

If this story ever makes it to 100 reviews, I will write a oneshot of any genre for any pairing my 100th reviewer requests. It just must be chosen from my list on my profile…cuz I have to _know_ the pairing. LOL. But hey, if I get to 100 reviews, I shall be a happy girl. -giant grin-


	6. Sewn Up Tight

-1Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect of this lovely series, and we should all be glad for this. It wouldn't be half as good if I did.

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**Clandestine**

_Sewn Up Tight_

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"_For so long my life's been sewn up tight inside your hold, and it leaves me there without a place to call my own…"_

Murtagh watched as Urû'baen come into view and held his breath, trying to calm all the emotions that came from having finally, _finally_ having gotten Eragon to understand. He knew he could not face Galbatorix until he had sorted himself through, or there would be little chance for survival.

He had heard a saying once… "All the world's a stage and all the men and women only actors." Murtagh disagreed. He liked to think of it a different way…that all the world was a play and each man, instead, was his own stage. Everyone acted in their own play on a daily basis, each one different to the other. Everyone has secrets, whether a person acknowledged them or not. Rarely did a person show their real selves, always acting, always under the big spotlight, and always on stage for every one to see.

Murtagh, of course, was no exception. His entire life had been a play, trying to hide who he was from everyone around him…be the perfect student, the perfect protégé, the perfect little soldier. He hid his own opinions, his feelings, even his expressions, closing off his mind from any penetration and keeping everything that made him _him_ from the view of anyone around him.

He had only survived growing up within the castle walls by hiding from everyone but Tornac, and even he had never known everything. It had been a lonely existence, but necessary to his survival. He had always entertained thoughts of getting away, running into the world he knew nothing of…but he knew no one could be trusted. To survive in a place like Urû'baen, one had to simply pretend they were as dead on the inside as most of the castle's inhabitants…which had taken practice but had been something Murtagh had been exemplary at.

Until he had met Eragon.

Somehow, the chestnut haired boy had shattered his walls as if they had never existed. It had taken mere days for Eragon to extract Murtagh from the shell he had inhabited since his mother's death, causing him to smile truly and get honestly annoyed and show it. He ran the full gamut of feelings the minute he got within any proximity of his younger brother, and he relished in the freedom it inspired.

It was not, however, such a blessing when he knew he was about to face the man who held his life.

_//I do not like this,//_ Thorn said warily as he touched down in the Dragon's Keep, _//It was not wise to cross Galbatorix.//_

_//And leave Eragon to that torture, either to die or be forced into our situation?//_

The crimson dragon sighed, meeting Murtagh's eyes as the dark-haired man dismounted, _//Yes, yes, I know. Selfishly sacrificing yourself for your love. Joy,//_ he said wryly snorting in disdain before becoming serious, _//It was still a stupid move. I realize the consequences, had you not acted, and I would not wish our servitude on anyone…but now your life is in the balance. I will not see you killed.//_

_//Of course you won't.//_

_//You seem to enjoy worrying me though, don't you?//_

Murtagh smile weakly and stroked the hard ruby scales of Thorn's neck before beginning his trek to Galbatorix, still conversing over his bond, _//It matters not. You know he will not kill us, we are far too useful to him. I will tell him what he wants to hear, and it will be fine. Please, Thorn, believe in me.//_

A sigh,_ //I do. I think you foolish when Eragon is involved…but I trust you with both our lives.//_

_//I know I am being a fool…but I cannot help but save him. I would not be able to live with myself if I knew he perished because of my neglect.//_

_//And if you are ordered to kill him?//_ Thorn said softly, devoid of his usual sarcasm. Despite his harsh demeanor and rather snippy personality, Thorn cared deeply for his Rider.

_//Then I will have no choice, but I cannot guarantee I will live beyond completing that command.//_

With an apprehensive farewell that stalled any response the dragon might have had, Murtagh paused at the doors to Galbatorix's throne room. The doors were grand, ornate and twice as tall as any man Murtagh had ever seen. He spent several moments stalling as he stared up at the woodwork, carved scenes of dragons flying free over a landscape of hills and fields. He sighed and slowly pushed upon one door, ready to face his fate.

"Ah," the deceptively smooth voice rang out immediately, "My little puppet has returned."

Murtagh's face remained impassive as he strode to the throne, dropping to one knee before the king, "I have returned as commanded, my liege."

Murtagh kept his eyes on the ground even as he sensed the nearly ancient man rise and walk toward him, possessing a grace no one of over a century should have, "Why waste your time on such distinctions when I know you do not believe in them?" he purred in the same soothing voice, though the tension beneath it was rapidly coming to the fore, "You dare to free my trophy from my grasp then come back here and play the part of a subservient soldier?!" he finished in a roar.

Murtagh's pulse was flying, "The Ra'zac sir," he began quickly, "They would have killed your prize, and with his death would have come the death of the dragon as well."

"It was for me to decide," Galbatorix snarled, heaving Murtagh up to eye level by the front of his tunic, "You deliberately disobeyed orders, my little marionette. What shall I do with you now?"

Murtagh's world was quickly being filled by a blinding panic. He knew he would live through the evening, but all he could do was attempt to lessen the punishment that was sure to come. He had never seen Galbatorix so angry, and was deathly afraid of what the king might do in his rage. He willed his hazel eyes to betray nothing as he met the black gaze of the wicked man, "My life is yours, my lord."

Murtagh recoiled as Galbatorix began to laugh, dropping the nineteen year old Rider to the ground. The laugh was vindictive and callous, grating on the ears and sending foreboding chills down Murtagh's spine. Long fingers clenched into the plush rug he had been dropped upon as the Traitor King bent in half in his laughter.

"Do you think me a fool, my little marionette?" he choked out, black eyes glinting malevolently, "You speak as if I do not know of your little…infatuation with that bumbling brat! I knew you would free him, which is why I have never attempted to capture him. Remember who holds your life, puppet, and remember that you do _nothing_ without me allowing it!"

Murtagh's jaw clenched tightly enough to be painful, but he didn't dare move. He watched the guffaws die down to chuckles, and the grin twist into an unpleasant smirk. Galbatorix focused down on him again, his voice once again controlled and misleadingly pleasant, "You may have your dalliance, my marionette, but be aware every moment you spend alongside the brat that I hold your life _and_ his. And remember, I can only use this as an advantage."

Murtagh nearly relaxed before he found himself thrown against a wall, blood already streaming from a cut in his head.

"Do not think my words meant leniency. You will pay for disobeying orders, my puppet."

--

Murtagh groaned.

_//Hn. Awake, O Gallant One?//_

He was apparently on his dragon's back, as the wind that whipped around him told him. Murtagh's stomach lurched and he dry heaved over Thorn's side, bare traces of stomach acid burning his throat. A week without food left him with nothing to expel, but his gag reflex was still going strong.

His injuries were not so bad as he had imagined they would be; he was nowhere near in the state that Eragon had been. His injuries consisted of a sprained wrist, a few broken ribs, and a large amount of bruising around his torso and face, but it was nothing worse than he had had in the past. The week of starvation and minimal water made him weak and the bruises and multitude of cracked ribs made breathing painful. But he was alive.

He blinked several times at the ground far beneath them, recognizing the area as a forest that was only an hour or so south or Urû'baen, _//Thorn? Where are we going…?//_

The dragon snorted, _//Insane, apparently. Your do-gooding ways are rubbing off on me. Damn you and corrupting my good sense with your moral righteousness. Damn you.//_

Murtagh laughed wearily, closing his eyes against the heavy rush of the wind and lying his head against Thorn's neck. He didn't doubt that he could pry the truth from his friend, but he decided to just wait and find out. The heady rush of flying was muted as Thorn twisted through air currents, Murtagh's stomach trying to stay calm.

He had no idea how long they flew, but he was surprised when they were already lowering altitude in a lazy spiral towards a large stream, the forest creeping in almost to its shoreline. Thorn touched down in a graceful motion, already crouching for his Rider to dismount. Murtagh did so with an air of confusion, falling to his knees as soon as he tried to stand on his own.

_//Sit down, Gallant,//_ Thorn chided.

_//Why are we here?//_

The answer came with the sound of wings…but Thorn was on the ground. Murtagh blinked and looked toward the sky, his eyes brightening when he saw the familiar blue dragon dipping toward their location from the heavens.

Eragon leapt from Saphira even before she had settled on the ground, running to Murtagh with grim concern etched over his features. Murtagh forced out a weak smile; wearing his heart on his sleeve like that would end up costing his brother dearly some day. But even so…Murtagh hoped the younger man never changed.

"Murtagh? Gods, you look like shit!"

The elder grimaced and barked out a tired laugh, "Thanks, Eragon."

Murtagh admired the way the late afternoon sun shone off chestnut hair, pulling out red and gold highlights that went unnoticed most of the time. For a moment as he watched the younger man running toward him, a weight settling on his chest, crushing him with the emotions the nearly glowing man provoked within him. Fierce and protective, it made Murtagh want to just run to the ends of the earth to hide Eragon, keeping him from the dangers and pain that awaited him in the coming months. Murtagh closed his eyes with a heavy sigh, willing away his wayward emotions and pushing down the turmoil that erupted within him. Now was not the time.

Opening his eyes, the lighter brunet was there, kneeling before Murtagh, "How injured are you?"

"I am fine," Murtagh said, trying to lever his way up. Eragon's hands held him back, pushing him to lie on the ground. Murtagh sighed and smacked them away, "I'm _fine_, Eragon."

A crimson head appeared in his line of sight then, and Murtagh could feel the incredulous expression that would be present on his dragon's face had he been human, _//No he isn't fine. He can hardly breath and has had no sustenance in a week. Not that food is _important_ or anything,//_ he drawled.

Eragon barely spared Thorn a glance, "Take off your shirt."

Murtagh merely raised an eyebrow.

A cold look passed over Eragon's face then, replacing the concern and hardening pale brown eyes, "Take it off or I will take it off for you."

Murtagh couldn't help the chill that passed down his spine at the fierce determination on the other man's face, strengthening elven features. The sun still shone down from behind the blue Rider, suffusing him in a golden light and making Murtagh's heart pound in his chest. He had always found the younger man beautiful, but with the scowl presently on his face and the light of the sun at his back, he was positively _exquisite_.

But Murtagh knew he would never tell him. He couldn't. Eragon was, despite all the death and pain, relatively innocent and naïve, and likely had never even looked at Murtagh in any way other than as a friend, and more recently as an enemy or brother. Besides, the blue Rider deserved far better than anything the red Rider could ever offer him. He knew of his brother's fascination with the elf they had rescued from Gil'ead, and he only hoped that the woman knew what a exceptional man she had. Perhaps she could give him everything Murtagh would never be able to.

Apparently, he had been lost in his reverie longer than he thought, because the scowl on Eragon's face deepened and he was pushing forward, straddling Murtagh's stomach and beginning the task of untying the strings that held closed his vest. Murtagh blinked rapidly as his brother growled at the fastenings, impatiently yanking at them and already pushing up at Murtagh's shirt with his other hand.

As calloused fingers ran up his stomach, Murtagh was very thankful that Eragon's attention was fixed on his clothing, because the way his eyes rolled back into his head and his breathing hitched, he would have been found out for sure. Trying to regain his senses, Murtagh bit his lip and admired the contrast between the pale muscles of his own stomach and the tanned fingers of the younger man.

A hissed expletive brought his attention back to Eragon, who had finally wrested his shirt up over his stomach and chest, exposing the myriad of blue, black, and purple bruises that littered his torso. Hands gentler now, but eyes dark and jaw set, Eragon pulled his brother's arms and head out of the shirt, tossing it aside and chewing his lip as his fingers absently traced up Murtagh's ribs. Despite the pain the gentle touches provoked, Murtagh still shivered and forced himself to remain composed, watching Eragon's face as the golden skinned younger man closed his eyes with a pained expression and splayed his hand across the pale expanse of mottled skin.

"Waìse heill," he murmured, and Murtagh gasped as the pain that had been throbbing in his side lessened. The hand moved slowly over his skin, skimming over to the other side, and with the words spoken once more the pain was tolerable in intensity. Looking oddly detached and far-off, Eragon's fingers trailed up over the broad chest, healing a long cut that Murtagh had been unaware of having. Murtagh kept his eyes on the distant eyes of his brother as the fingers trailed up to his face, healing his jaw and eye, where the worst of the damage was.

When fawn brown eyes flicked over hazel, Eragon seemed to freeze, a hand laying across Murtagh's cheek and still sitting on Murtagh's stomach. Fear, panic, and a few other undecipherable emotions flitted across the younger's expression, puzzling Murtagh. He opened his mouth to break the now heavy silence when a snort erupted from their right.

Thorn was watching the exchange with a bored expression, head resting on crossed front legs, _//His wrist as well.//_

Eragon shook out of his stupor, a pale pink beginning to spread from the bridge of his nose over his cheeks. He moved off of his brother and lifted the wrist, again muttering the healing words in the ancient language. Murtagh took in a deep breath, willing away any inconvenient emotions and propping himself up on his elbows. All but the last vestiges of his pain had dulled to nearly nothing, and he smiled gratefully at Eragon, "Thank you."

An awkward shrug was all he got in return, the younger man rising to his feet and walking to Saphira, and for one heart-clenching moment Murtagh thought Eragon would leave just as suddenly as he had arrived. However, the blue Rider simply detached a bag from the side of his dragon, patting her affectionately and walked back to Murtagh, "You can't eat much after a week without anything, but you need to eat a little."

Hazel eyes closed and Murtagh nodded, sitting up more and groaning as a few of his abused muscles and remaining bruises screamed their protest, "How did you know to come?" he asked Eragon, looking up to see brown eyes shoot away.

"Thorn contacted Saphira yesterday afternoon, saying you were grievously wounded and had been starved."

Murtagh flicked his eyes to Thorn, who only snorted and looked away; Murtagh nearly grinned at his dragon, always enjoying when the careless facade dropped. Then the larger scope of the innocuous statement hit him, and he turned to Eragon in shock, "You…came here for me, then? All this way?"

The pink that still tinged Eragon's cheeks darkened, lips pursing oddly, "You think you're the only one allowed to help? I needed to repay my debt."

Murtagh was disappointed by this, but simply nodded, "Won't your absence be noted?"

Eragon cringed, "Yes."

"What will you do?"

Eragon sighed and sat beside Murtagh, looking out at the water of the stream, "Honestly? I don't know. With all the planning for war…"

"Don't tell me anything," Murtagh interrupted quickly, catching Eragon's eye, "Despite my unwillingness, I am still a servant to Galbatorix. He could force any information I know, and I do not wish to endanger you."

Eragon smiled at him and nodded, seeming pleased with the sentiment, "Alright."

They sat in silence for long moments as Murtagh finished his food, both staring out at the slowly running water. With a sigh, Murtagh laid back onto the grassy ground, looking up to the clouds overhead, "I wish things were different."

He heard Eragon join him, and could feel the heat from the younger man near to his arm, "I don't."

Murtagh flinched.

"I mean…" Eragon said quickly, sighing, "Nasuada held me back after I had revealed that you had saved me, and she asked me if I wished things were different. For a minute, I could think of several things I wish I could change…" the blue Rider trailed off, gulping before shifting onto his side, catching Murtagh's dark eyes.

"But then…I decided I wouldn't. If you spend your life regretting how things happened, you wind up unhappy no matter the situation. If I always wished I had never found Saphira's egg…my uncle would be alive, and I would be living a normal, boring life. But I never would have discovered how wonderful it is to fly, I never would have met the people I've met. I could wish that my parentage was different," the younger oddly blushed then, but did not stop speaking, "But what good would that do? I would not be who I was. So…I believe we are meant to live life as it comes, not wish for a different card. I never understood this until recently."

Murtagh turned to face his brother, his throat constricting. He was right. He smiled crookedly and nodded, before seeing a peculiar look cross Eragon's face, the younger man looking conflicted and wary. With a look of loathing that seemed more focused on himself than Murtagh, the younger of the two flopped onto his back and again trained his eyes on the slow-moving clouds that were painted in pink and gold with the sunset. Murtagh followed with frown, unsure what had caused the violent change in mood before Eragon spoke again in a tight voice, "Why did you kill Hrothgar?"

"Who?"

"Hrothgar. The Dwarf King."

Murtagh clenched his jaw, "I was under orders to kill any of the Varden leaders on sight."

"Then…"

"The orders, they are like a compulsion. I cannot disobey them, I can just try to circumvent them. There was no room for misunderstanding in that order. I saw him, I killed him."

Eragon sat up, glaring down at him, "Don't act so casual about a good man's death!"

"What would you have me do? You yourself just said we should not wish things were altered. I could have done nothing differently."

The muscles in Eragon's jaw twitched in suppressed anger, "Hrothgar deserves retribution."

"Will you kill me, then?" Murtagh asked softly, "Now that you have repaid your debt to me, would you see me dead?"

Fawn brown eyes closed and Eragon twitched, battling with himself, "I should."

Pain constricted Murtagh's chest, "Will you?"

Eragon stood, walking towards Saphira, but as he put a foot up to mount her he spoke nearly too quietly for Murtagh to hear, "I wish it were that easy."

And then the sound of wings filled the clearing and Eragon was gone, leaving Murtagh alone with his dragon and his thoughts, strangely pleased by the response…but the ache that filled his chest remained.

----------

A/N: I hate this chapter. Well, no…I hate the Eragon/Murtagh interaction in this chapter. I mean, seriously I hate it. It is terribly out of character, and I rewrote it four times to try and fix that…but I couldn't. Damnit. Damn, damn, damn. I hate how out of character this story has become. -sigh- I knew this would happen. I apologize to everyone, honestly.

Any suggestions?

Writer's block has impaled me on all fronts…so please forgive me if it takes an extra few days to get out the next chapter. I can't seem to write _anything_. Sucky, ne? -sigh-

Right now it's pretty much between Arya and Nasuada for who will stand by Eragon from the initial revelation…both, then, or one of them? Hmm…

As for the green Rider, I am torn. I've decided with the way this story is going in my head, it will either have to be a bad guy or no one…or a good character gone bad…I'm leaning towards no one. There is no way to get to the Green egg, I think, and it would take away from the story to concentrate on a new Rider…and the timeframe won't be big enough for the dragon to mature, either. So, I'm sorry to disappoint on that front, guys.


	7. Reality Sets Back In

-1Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect of this lovely series, and we should all be glad for this. It wouldn't be half as good if I did.

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**Clandestine**

_Reality Sets Back In_

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"_Every so often we long to steal to the land of what might have been, but that doesn't soften the ache we feel when reality sets back in…"_

Eragon cursed himself brutally as day turned to night, Saphira coasting low to the tree line as they flew. He hated himself more violently at the moment than he had ever managed to in the past, and wished he had something very solid to punch to let out his frustration.

Every time he was near Murtagh, it was like his entire world narrowed down to the other Rider. He forgot his mission, his purpose, his goals. He forgot the Varden and Galbatorix, he forgot Nasuada, Arya, and Orik. Nothing else mattered but Murtagh when he was near to him, hoping to cause one of the older man's breathtaking true smiles instead of his usual smirk.

He hated how lost he always became, his heart suddenly pounding at every simple brush and look. He hated how he wished to drown in the red Rider's eyes, throwing the rest of his existence out the window and focusing only on the darker haired man in front of him. It was like a curse, one that made Eragon act even more foolishly than he ever had when around Arya, and Eragon hated it.

He had felt so light as he had talked to Murtagh about living without regret, taking life as it came. In theory, it was a beautiful sentiment, and Eragon had been so glad to see the light of dawning understanding light hazel eyes and a smile grace the features he dreamed so much have. He had felt a weight he had been unaware of lift from him when the soft expression had crossed Murtagh's face…only for that weight to be replaced with one much heavier.

Murtagh, despite his unwillingness, was the enemy. He was the enemy and had killed people Eragon cared for. Eragon was not meant to be casually sitting on a stream bed and sneaking furtive glances at the striking man, feeling his heart hammer while remembering sitting atop him, his hands on pale skin and wishing more than anything to have the courage to lean closer…

Eragon swore mentally and halted that train of thought. What was he going to do now? He and Saphira had left without so much as a word to anyone, rushing to Murtagh's side to help the red Rider. What would everyone say if they knew the truth? What would Arya, Nasuada, Roran, _Orik_ think to know he had left in order to aid the enemy, his brother, whom he was irreparably, deeply, and madly in love with?

He hated how easy it was for him to talk to Murtagh, spill his very soul out and divulge his deepest thoughts. He hated how his breath caught in his throat when Murtagh laughed. He hated how he could no longer imagine being as close to anyone else the way he wished to be with Murtagh. He hated knowing that no one else could be nearly as compatible with him as Murtagh. He hated knowing that despite his current anger at himself, that he would no sooner give up on his unrequited longing than he would suddenly openly admit it.

_//You should not hate so many things, Eragon.//_

Eragon sighed, laying his face against Saphira's cool scales and closing his eyes, _//What else can I do but hate them? I feel like I am betraying everyone.//_

Saphira sighed mentally, _//I wish I could calm your fears, but I cannot. He is the enemy, and I think this is an unwise thing you are doing…but I will stand by you no matter what, Eragon. I just hope you know what you are doing.//_

_//That is the problem, I do not.//_

A soft chuckle_//I trust you, Eragon.//_

_//I am glad one of us does. I feel like I am no longer in control when around him…//_

_//Just do not do anything foolish, alright?//_

Another sigh, _//I will not make a promise I cannot keep, but I will try.//_

_//That is all I ask, little one. Now sleep, I will fly for a while yet.//_

_//………Thank you, Saphira. For everything, I mean.//_

_//Sleep.//_

_//Goodnight.//_

--

It was afternoon before the dragon and her Rider touched down once again in Borremeo Castle near Saphira's lodging, greeting the servants that ran to help Eragon settle. Saphira's tack was removed and his bag taken - to his room, he supposed - and Eragon started out to search for Nasuada.

His guilt for having left without a word was heavy, especially knowing he had left to aid the enemy. None of them would understand what caused him to make such foolish decisions concerning Murtagh, as he did not truly understand them himself…all he could do was apologize for his abrupt departure and hope nothing had happened in his absence.

The unassuming doorway that lead to the Varden leader's study seemed like a death sentence in Eragon's current mindset, and he wasn't sure just how many minutes he spent staring at the simple wood that separated him from his fealty-sworn leader. He would have to skirt the truth, which left a dirty taste in his mouth as the thought even crossed his mind. He would be lying, in all technicalities.

"Please enter, Eragon."

Eragon twitched and shook himself from his reverie, pushing open the heavy door and bowing at the waist as he was met with a stern-faced Nasuada behind her adopted cherry wood desk. Black eyes flicked over him, scrutinizing, apparently assessing him.

"Where were you? No one has seen you in nearly three days, Eragon."

Eragon sighed and came as close to the truth as he dared, "I needed time away…all this planning for war…"

Nasuada's eyes narrowed shrewdly and her voice had a chill in it that Eragon was not accustomed to, "You cannot just abandon your responsibilities whenever you see fit, Eragon Shadeslayer. We are at war, and you are our key player; you will not leave without notice again."

Eragon cringed and bit his tongue to keep from lashing out at being referred to as a weapon. He wanted to run again already, but he knew his duties. He pursed his lips painfully.

Nasuada's eyes softened slightly, "If you need time away, you must tell me, Eragon. But when plans are made and you just disappear…it is bad for morale and it causes problems. I am your friend, I like to think, but I am the Varden's leader foremost. I will not allow myself to be tread upon. Do you understand?"

Eragon nodded, "I apologize sincerely. I should have thought more about my actions. Did I miss something important?"

The dark woman leaned back in her seat, relaxing slightly. The strain of the recent months showed on her face, and Eragon winced internally for her, "It is not so bad, since you returned…the others have already left but I have no doubt that with Saphira you will be able to catch up with them quickly."

"Who? And where have they gone?"

Nasuada's tired eyes locked with his, "There are some important items that had to be left behind within Farthen Dûr that need to be retrieved…but the tunnels have since been sealed. A team is on their way to the waterfall entrance, and I need you to join them. The pieces to Isidar Mithrim have been reconstructed, and now would be a good time to raise the spirits of many."

Eragon blinked in surprise. He had thought it would take much longer to piece together the Star Rose, but then again, he knew of its meaning to the dwarves. He nodded to Nasuada, "When should I depart?"

"Either tonight or tomorrow morning at dawn. Arya or Shrrgnien can give you your tasks once you meet up with them."

"Shrrgnien? Why not Orik?"

Nasuada raised her eyebrow, "He departed for Tronjheim right after you returned from captivity. You did not notice he was gone?"

Eragon valiantly fought down a blush; he knew his mind had been drifting, but he thought he would have noticed the absence of one of his closer friends! He scowled at himself internally while smiling sheepishly at Nasuada, "I had not been feeling well."

Again dark eyes narrowed, but Nasuada seemed to let the obvious half truth slide as she nodded in dismissal, "Go rest and prepare to depart. I will see you in a week when you return."

Eragon bowed at the waist with a slight jerk and exited the room, intent on doing just that.

--

Eragon couldn't sleep no matter how hard he tried, his tossing and turning finally frustrating him so badly that he gave up on trying. Pushing himself off the tangled bed sheets, the brunet sighed and pushed a hand through his hair, irritably tugging on it and glaring at the wall. His thoughts this night were far less pleasant than they had been in the previous weeks, no longer fantasies or daydreams of soft, pale skin and fathomless dark eyes, but instead sharp mental reprimands and an unfamiliar voice that taunted him.

He knew it was wrong when he looked at the older man and lusted, or when his heart swelled as a smile crossed pale lips. He knew that even if Murtagh was _not_ his enemy that the thoughts he had would be taboo; the red Rider was _still_ his brother even without the political implications.

His hand throbbed painfully, and Eragon opened eyes he hadn't realized he's closed to see his fist rammed through the wooden wall of his room. He did not think he had broken any of his fingers, but he had managed to lodge thick splinters in his knuckles and blood ran sluggishly between his fingers.

Cursing yet again, Eragon left the room, needing a cloth to clean the wounds and a bandage to wrap them. The halls were silent at the late hour, but Eragon ignored the deep shadows that surrounded him. He had no fear for the darkness.

He didn't even notice his surroundings nor question where he was going until a movement in the moonlight caught his attention, halting his raging thoughts and pounding footsteps. He followed the distended shadow to the windowsill and had already voiced his slight surprise before it registered in his mind, "Solembum?"

The werecat smirked and stretched languidly, his tail twitching, _//Ah, the Rider.//_

"Angela is near, I suppose?"

Slitted golden eyes took on a pleased expression and the werecat began to walk away, obviously intending Eragon to follow. Though he honestly had no real reason to speak to Angela and the herbalist was likely to end up frustrating him more with her riddles, he knew better than to not listen to the werecat, darting after the feline quickly throughout he shadowed halls.

For once, the witch was not working on anything, sitting in a window much like Solembum had and staring out at the nearly full moon. She didn't turn when she spoke, but the words alone were enough to freeze Eragon in place, the hairs on his neck and arms standing on end. The voice was strange even for Angela, the cadence too smooth, the tone too melodic.

"I had never made a mistake in a reading before you…"

Eragon felt his muscles tense in unison, but didn't dare speak.

"The moon…I like the night, did you know? I always have. In the moonlight, problems seem less substantial…in the moonlight flaws are hidden. Yet…shadows grow longer and darkness is augmented. What is the truth of the night? Do you know? Does anyone?"

Eerie seemingly silver eyes turned to lock onto Eragon's, the moonlight reflecting against them an making Eragon unaware if the color was truly changed or if it was a trick of the light, "Angela?"

"Rather would I have the love songs of romantic ages, rather an elopement by ladder and rope on a moonlight night, followed by the father's curse, mother's moans, and the moral comments of neighbors, than correctness and propriety measured by yardsticks."

Eragon froze again, his usually slow-to-click brain understanding the cryptic statement immediately. Rapidly the brunette witch blinked, her posture suddenly becoming more human instead of the almost boneless state she had been in. Other than those few moments of disconcertion, Angela seemed to return to totally normal, giving an amused smirk as if Eragon was not looking as if he had seen a ghost, "It's hard to see the dawn before everyone else, isn't it? Thinking differently than the world leaves you in a very lonely place. You're lucky that you have Saphira, she will keep you sane…and stop letting social acceptance keep you from your epic romance."

She breezed past him, the previously absent Solembum appearing at her feet as she brushed by, "Wonders never cease though…" she said with a decidedly wicked tone, "Never saw you as one o' those types."

And she left the still shell shocked Eragon in the middle of the moonlit hallway, the blood drained from his face and his mind so jumbled that it would be a long while before he could move.

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A/N: Agg, sorry for the wait and the short chapter, my writer's block is like a MOUNTAIN……it's not only this story, but every one I have been trying to write. It's hell. I hope this isn't TOO horrible, but I know it is subpar to my usual writing…. sigh

More EragonMurtagh interaction coming up!


	8. You're Addicted

-1Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect of this lovely series, and we should all be glad for this. It wouldn't be half as good if I did.

_Note on the timeline:_ Eragon left for Ellesméra in the spring. The training was an undetermined length, but it felt like months to me as a reader. He returned to the Varden in spring, as well, and Thorn was at least 6 months old (he could breath fire). Therefore, we must assume he was in Ellesmere for a year and that his next birthday (his 17th) is approaching.

**WARNINGS: **If you've read this T rated story this far, you should know it is going to (eventually) get graphic. This is not the case, yet, but we're finally beginning the yumminess. Enjoy, loves.

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**Clandestine**

_You're Addicted_

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"_You and me have a disease, You affect me, you infect me, I'm afflicted, you're addicted, you and me, you and me…"_

Eragon closed his eyes as the wind chapped his face, letting the feeling of freedom engulf him again. Flying would forever wash away his worries, lighten his heart. They had departed in the early morning hours the day before and Eragon had slept through the day on Saphira's back, still trying to get over the strange one-sided conversation he had had with Angela.

The words _epic romance_ had stabbed at him, driving a nail into his chest. That prophecy, the one that had predicted Murtagh's betrayal when he hadn't known it, the one that had told him of Brom's death. The one that spoke of his noble, beautiful love… the person he had assumed in the months to follow was Arya. Of _course _he had assumed Arya, the beautiful if not cool elf with her fathomless dark green eyes and limitless grace. Who else could he have assumed?

But now…Angela had basically told him that she and he both had made a mistake. How could she _know_? He was perturbed by how Angela seemed to somehow know everything without having been there to witness it, and was now telling him that the 'one of noble birth and heritage, who is powerful, wise, and beautiful' was, indeed, possibly not the 'she' they both had assumed. And that led to his thoughts straying to, of course…

He shook his head and sighed, trying _not_ to think of Murtagh. He clenched his bandaged hand and focused on the pain to keep his mind away from his brother, trying his best to stick to his resolution. He would stay away from Murtagh, he would not allow the temptation to be near the other Rider to blind him to the world as it was.

_Disgusting_. That is what he was. A man who loved after another man, a brother who lusted after his own kin. A traitor to his cause by allowing his feelings to cloud his judgment. He was weak to let his heart hold him back from what he knew to be his path…one where he would have to kill the beautiful dark haired man he loved.

Saphira, quiet in deference to her Rider's mood, spoke softly, trying not to intrude on the turmoil of Eragon's thoughts, _//We are very nearly there, I can see the smoke from their campfire.//_

Eragon sent a mental nod in return, quickly attempting to pull himself into a semblance of what everyone expected of him. Pushed away were thoughts of Angela's strange encouragement, pushed away were fantasies of a pale face smiling at him and holding out a hand, pushed away were the doubts and self-hate and mental recriminations. He practiced a friendly smile as they swung down on the air currents toward where the small group had camped for the night.

It was amazing to Eragon to see how slow travel was by ground. It had taken him only a hours of flying to reach where they had with nearly three days travel. In the previous months he had grown used to traveling with Saphira and it never ceased to shock him to notice the difference in speeds.

He glanced at the group as he touched down, several sets of bleary just-woken eyes on him. It was past the middle night at this point, nearer to dawn than he cared to think about, though the sky remained dark. Arya stood from her bedding at the edge of the clearing with a scowl, obviously displeased that it had taken him so long to catch up with them after his unannounced departure. Eragon recognized a few others by face only, none close enough for him to remember their names.

"Arya Svit-kona," he said with a formal bow as he approached the woman who showed no trace that she had been sleeping moments ago, the others in the small group going back to their sleep.

"Eragon," she said with a blank look, "I assume Nasuada has already reminded you of your age and responsibilities?"

Eragon gritted his teeth at the condescending undertones. Though the childish infatuation with her had faded, he still considered her a close friend…but she was not an easy woman to get along with. She constantly held an air of being better than everyone around her, as if by just allowing others in her presence she was doing them a favor. Eragon hated that, but he knew she did not mean it as harshly as it seemed, and forgave her for it. This, though, did not stop him from the surges of anger her attitude provoked in him.

Through clenched jaw he was barely able to keep his voice calm, but he thought he did well enough, "Yes, I spoke with her. She said you or Shrrgnien could tell me of what I am meant to do?"

Arya nodded sharply, "You will accompany us to Tronjheim and repair the Star Rose if you can, and then you will help us bring back a larger package filled with weapons to Surdia. From there, we will decide the next course of action."

The woman turned and walked to her bedroll without waiting for a response, leaving Eragon exasperated. He was far from tired after his long nap through the day, and after watching the campsite settle down he walked into the dark forest, lit only by the full moon over his head.

_//Sleep, Saphira. I shall be fine.//_

_//Be careful,//_ she said simply before he felt her doze immediately, obviously tired from several consecutive days of long-distance flying.

He wondered if Arya still thought he harbored feelings for her. Likely she did, though he couldn't blame her for the assumption. He had acted foolishly around her for months…and things like that rarely change quickly. If his realization of his feelings for Murtagh had not been as strong and earth-shaking, he might have still entertained his fantasies about a life with her. Even with the realizations it had taken him a couple of weeks of little interaction with the woman before the feelings had faded.

He wished he still felt them, though. He wished for the simple clarity he had once thought he possessed, the knowledge that he was just a normal young man who chased after a beautiful woman. He groaned softly and leaned back against a tree, trying to banish who he now wished to chase after.

He spent nearly an hour holding back his thoughts, willing them to fade away. No light yet touched the sky save for the wide moon, but he imagined dawn was fast approaching. He closed his eyes to meditate, hoping the thoughts would just _go_ and leave him in peace.

But the thoughts would not. No matter how he ignored them, his mind supplied him with images of elegant fingers tracing over his jaw, dark hazel eyes piercing him. His breathing hitched as he envisioned soft, warm lips brushing barely against his neck as he desperately arched closer to a hard body. He pretended he could turn his head and capture those lips with his own, warm and wet and _hot_…

Eragon snarled and pushed himself away from where he leaned, slightly panting just by the train of his thoughts. He nearly punched the tree in his wrath, but his still-bandaged knuckles throbbed in that moment, reminding the blue Rider of his previous injury. He snarled wordlessly and began stalking through the forest once more, determined to outrun his own feelings if it killed him.

He would have thought the sudden presence that invaded his senses a figment of his imagination if his thoughts had not been so violently against the very man who possessed the aura. Had it been a few minutes prior in the haze of lust, he could very well have written it off as his heart wishing for more than his imagination to fulfill it. But as it was, he was in a rage and this was the last presence he wanted to feel, especially when his eyes locked on the ethereally glowing man that stepped out from the shadows, a smile playing at his lips.

"Fancy seeing you here, Eragon."

"Just go away," Eragon hissed at the darker brunet, turning his back immediately and hating the shiver that ran down his back.

"What? Eragon, what's your problem?" Murtagh asked, quickly stalking across the clearing and turning Eragon to face him.

"Just shut up and leave, alright? I do not want you here!" he spat, twisting out of Murtagh's grip and walking away.

Murtagh flinched before his eyes hardened, "What is wrong with you? You were not nearly as angry last we spoke…"

_'Enough of this,'_ Eragon snarled internally. And then he was charging at Murtagh, dwarf-made sword in hand and face closed off, and Murtagh could do nothing but fight back.

Murtagh drew Zar'roc swiftly in retaliation and blocked the slash Eragon had aimed at him, pushing back against his brother and parrying another blow. Eragon fought without his usual finesse, and hacked at Murtagh sloppily; had this been a real battle, Murtagh could have easily overtaken him. As it was, he merely deflected every strike, dancing away from the enraged younger man.

"Fight me!" Eragon screamed, thrusting forward, blade very nearly impaling Murtagh. The older growled and slashed back, quickly becoming angry.

Eragon was disappointed when the fight stayed one-sided, though, Murtagh only occasionally lashing back against the other Rider. Instead he led them in continuous circles, the clang of their swords and Eragon's heavy breathing the only sounds in the clearing. After ten minutes of eluding Eragon's blade, a scowl deepened on Murtagh's face. Quite suddenly he was tossing Zar'roc to the side and lunging at the younger man, taking the blue Rider off guard. Murtagh gripped him around the waist and heaved him against a tree, seizing Eragon's wrists and pinning him to the tree with his body, disarming the younger man with the hand that was not holding Eragon's hands over his head.

"What is your problem, _little brother_?" he spat, breathing hard.

"Don't call me that!" Eragon yelled into Murtagh's face, pushing against him with all his strength in a bid to free himself.

"And why shouldn't I?" Murtagh growled, "You are acting like a spoilt child again! I thought we had a truce!"

Eragon was having difficulties concentrating on what Murtagh was saying, as his struggles against the lean body against him had placed a fog over his thoughts, awakening the feelings he had been fighting off when Murtagh had unceremoniously appeared. He gulped audibly, his mouth suddenly very dry, "Just…go away," he croaked out weakly.

Murtagh pressed harder against him unintentionally, ripping a soft moan from Eragon and freezing both men in place. Eragon quickly turned crimson, berating himself for his weakness as he began struggling anew to free himself, shouting obscenities and trying to gain leverage against the shocked man pinning him to the tree.

He didn't notice the glint that came to Murtagh's eyes, therefore didn't expect it when another mouth was crushed fiercely against his own.

In shock, Eragon did nothing but stiffen at first, staring into dark hazel eyes that were so very close to his own. Hazily, he noticed that there were a few gold flecks along with the green, and that it was really quite pretty…

Suddenly realizing the situation he found himself in, Eragon very nearly yanked himself away, despite the protests of ninety percent of his body and soul. He knew it was wrong, that the kiss should be stopped before he found himself unable to stop it, before his traitorous heart had a chance to put its opinion in. He was torn in two directions, most of him wanting nothing more than to deepen the kiss and tell his brain to take a hike, while that small thread of consciousness was screaming at him for his own stupidity. Then an insistent tug of teeth on his lower lip made up his mind.

Eragon was lost.

The kiss was primal and hungry, a fierce battle for dominance in which they both gave as god as they got…Eragon thought it was divine. He let his hands newly released hands tangle in Murtagh's hair and pulled the other man closer yet, seeking to taste all there was to the other Rider. His eyes slipped shut and he let himself melt into Murtagh, relishing in the feeling of the body pressed flush against him. Murtagh seemed to radiate heat in a direct parallel to what Eragon would have assumed for the often cold man, and Eragon couldn't help wanting more of it.

Chilled fingers worked their way under his tunic, tracing the contours of his stomach and sending delicious chills in their wake. Eragon gasped and pulled back from the kiss, tilting his face skyward and trying to catch his breath. Warm lips, discontent with the end of the kiss, began trailing over the skin of his neck, teeth nipping at his fluttering pulse.

Murtagh's touch, his mouth, his breath was addicting. Eragon felt the need for more coursing through his veins, pumping into him. He wanted more skin, more contact. He wanted to taste everything the older man had to offer, bury his nose in his hair and inhale his scent. Eragon felt disembodied as a moan was ripped from his throat, his mind only conscious of wanting _more_ and _harder_ and _faster_.

The fingers still wrapped in Murtagh's hair tightened their hold and yanked the lips back up to meet his, warm, open-mouthed, and quite sloppy -- but neither of them cared. The kisses were a culmination of months of desire and the quality was superficial. The hands that wandered Eragon's torso moved to his back, blunt nails gripping his hips. This provoked another low moan which was lost in Murtagh's mouth, and the younger couldn't help it as he hungrily trailed his lips and tongue across the other man's jaw, nipping as he went.

Murtagh groaned as Eragon pulled the lobe of his ear with his teeth, tightening his hold on the blue Rider's hips and grinding himself into Eragon. Both gasped breathlessly and moaned, eyes meeting for the first time in long minutes. Dark hazel and warm brown froze on one another, the true gravity of their current positions only now setting in. Eragon swallowed thickly and slowly lowered his hands from the dark brown hair, fingers shaking as he wished there was not a tree at his back so he could pull away from the addictive warmth the other man provided. Murtagh's fingers only tightened their grip, swiftly reminding both men of their painful problems.

Eragon bit his lip to stifle a whimper, drawing Murtagh's attention back to his mouth. A fire lit within darkened eyes, and Eragon nearly moaned at the hungry look he saw there. Murtagh leaned close enough for his breath to fan over Eragon's lips, and the blue Rider's harsh intake of breath was countered by a long sigh from Murtagh, who rose his eyes again to fawn brown ones, a pleading look in them.

The moment was broken by Thorn suddenly lowering himself into the clearing; both had been so distracted that they had not noticed his approach. After a short conversation with his Rider, the dragon gazed dispassionately at Eragon before turning his back, presumably to give the pair privacy.

"It seems your companions are stirring," Murtagh mumbled, looking down, "We should leave."

Eragon nodded mutely, unable to force his voice past his suddenly unworking tongue.

After a moment of obvious indecision, Murtagh leaned in and kissed Eragon again, this time slowly. Eragon foggily returned the caress of longingly, unsure if it would ever happen again and wishing implant everything about those lips to memory. He sought to push every bit of his emotions to Murtagh, hoping the sentiment would be understood as he moved his lips unhurriedly against those of the older man.

"Goodnight," Murtagh whispered against Eragon's lips, pulling away slowly with a deep regret in his eyes. He tore his gaze away and turned from Eragon, walking to his dragon.

Eragon watched the red Rider disappear into the darkness of pre-dawn before beginning the short trek back to the camp the others had set, still feeling oddly detached from the situation he had just found himself in. He relished the feeling, the knowledge of _rightness_ and how wonderfully light he felt. Something in his mind told him the feeling wouldn't last until morning, so for the moment, Eragon allowed a smile to tug his lips as he walked back towards the others.

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A/N: This wasn't meant to happen yet. -sweat drop- Crap. But hey, my writer's block eased enough for me to write it somewhat decently, so I suppose I shouldn't complain, ne?

Keep in mind, Eragon is still an indecisive ass, so this does _not_ mean they're together. XD Oh, denial is a helpful plot device, it is, it is.

THANK YOU to all people who have reviewed thus far, I love you all dearly. However, I would like to point out some semantics. More reviews means Happy Katie. Happy Katie means faster writing. Faster writing means faster posting. Therefore, one can assume that more reviews is equal to faster posting. Review?


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